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AUTHOR: 


MACKENZIE,JOHN 
STUART 
T.TLE:  j^  MANUAL  OF  ETHICS 

DESIGNED  FOR.... 


PLA  CE : 


LONDON 


DA  TE : 


1901 


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Mackeime,  John  Stuart,  1860-1935. 

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OF  ETHICS. 


BY 

JOHN    S.    MACKENZIE,    M.A., 

ProrESSOE  or  u>cic  and  philosophVin  the  univeksitv  college  of  south  walk. 

.^MO^MOLXHSHiKE;    KORMEHLV   EELLOW   OE  THIMXV   COLLEOE.  CAMBK.IK.E. 


FOURTH  EDIT  ION. 


London:  W.  B.  OLIVE, 

(UniSereit)?  €^«foridf  Qprecs 

(University  torreapunuetuc  College  Press)^ 

157  Dkury  L.vne,  W.C. 

1901. 


PREFACE   TO  THE  THIRD   EDITION. 


i 


e' 


This  handbook  is  intended  primarily  for  the  use  of 
private  students,  and  .specially  for  those  jvho  are  prepar- 
Cfor  such  examinations  in  Ethics  as  those  conducted 
b 'the  University  of  London.  It  is  hoped,  however  that 
■/will  be  found  useful  also  by  other  classes  of  readers. 
Its  design  is  to  give,  in  brief  compass,  an  outl.ne  of  the 
It  •  nportant'principles  of  ethical  doctrine  so  f^r  as 
these  can  be  understood  without  a  knowledge  of  Meta- 

physics.  ^       ^„  1  T 

To  do  this  satisfactorily  is  by  no  means  easy  ;  and  I 
can  hardly  hope  that  I  have  been  successful  in  overcom- 
ing the  difficulties.     The  theory  of  Ethics  must,  I  beheve, 
in  the  end  rest  on  Metaphysics ;  and  what  it  is  poss.ble 
to  do  without  Metaphysics  can  be  little  more  than  a  clear- 
ing of  the  ground,  and  a  leading  up  to  the  metaphysical 
plciples  tL  are  involved  in  the  subject     The  system 
of  metaphyseal  truth,  however,  is  like  a  city  with  many 
gates ;  and  perhaps  the  student  may  enter  it  by  the  ethical 
Jate  as  profitably  as  by  any  other.     It  has  been  my  aim 
at  any  rate,  to  conduct  the  student  gradual^  inwards  from 
the  psychological  outworks  to  the  metaphysical  founda- 

*'Tt  is  perhaps  hardly  necessarj-  to  say  that  the  meta- 
physical point  of  view  adopted  in  this  Manual  ,s 
^at  of  the  school  of  Idealism-;.  ..  the  school  ^founded 

322476 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


by  Kant  and  developed  by  Hegel,  Green,  and  others. 
In  this  respect  the  present  Text-book  is  similar  to 
two  other  treatises  which  appeared  a  little  before  it — 
Dewey's  Outlines  of  a  Critical  Theory  of  Ethics^  and  Muir- 
head's  E/e?ne?its  of  Ethics.^  If  these  books  had  been 
published  before  this  one  was  arranged  for,  it  is  probable 
that  it  would  never  have  been  undertaken.  As  it  is,  I 
can  only  plead  that  the  subject  is  handled  in  this  work  in 
a  way  slightly  different  from  that  in  which  it  is  taken  up 
by  either  of  the  other  two,  and  that  it  may  consequently 
in  some  respects  satisfy  a  want  which  neither  of  them 
fully  meets.  I  hope,  however,  that  readers  of  my  book 
will,  as  far  as  possible,  consult  the  other  two  also.  Where 
there  is  a  general  harmony  of  point  of  view,  a  compari- 
son of  the  methods  of  treatment  adopted  by  different 
writers  on  points  of  detail  is  often  of  the  greatest  value 
to  the  student.  I  think  it  would  be  especially  useful  for 
readers  of  this  book,  who  have  time  to  spare,  to  compare 
it  in  this  way  with  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics.  The 
latter  work  is  designed  for  a  slightly  different  purpose  ; 
and  at  many  points  it  will  be  found  to  supply  a  very  use- 
ful supplement  to  the  present  treatise  by  presenting  the 
same  general  ideas  in  a  somewhat  different  light.  For 
the  convenience  of  students  who  may  use  it  in  this  way, 
I  have  inserted  frequent  references  to  Mr.  Mui»'  ^ad's 
book,  and  have  indicated  the  main  points  of  divergence. 

"  Other  two  books  which  have  since  appeared — Professor  James 
Seth's  Study  of  Ethical  Principles  and  Mr.  C.  F.  D'Arcy's  Short 
Study  of  Ethics — are  also  written  from  a  point  of  view  which  is  to  a 
large  extent  similar.  In  both  of  these  books  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
space  devoted  to  the  discussion  of  the  metaphysical  basis;  but  in 
neither  case  does  the  discussion  appear  satisfactory.  On  the  whole 
I  have  thought  it  best  to  leave  such  discussions  to  works  that  are  ex- 
pressly metaphysical  in  character. 


PREFACE. 


IX 


My  obligations  to  the  leading  exponents  of  the  science 
are  sufficiently  obvious,  and  need  not  be  specially  ac- 
knowledged.  In  particular,  how  much  I  owe  to  Dr. 
Edward  Caird  will  probably  be  evident  to  every  one  who 
is  familiar  with  his  writings  and  teaching.  I  must,  how- 
ever  make  some  more  particular  acknowledgment  of  the 
assistance  I  have  received  at  various  points  from  several 

friends  and  critics.  .    ,      ^    .   u     ^ 

The  proofs  of  this  edition,  as  well  as  of  the  first,  have 
been  read  by  Mrs.  GiUiland  Husband,  and  I  am  indebted 
to  her  for  many  highly  suggestive  criticisms.     Mr.  James 
Welton  also  read  all  the  proofs  of  the  first  edition,  and 
Mr   Stout  has  read  all  the  proofs  of  the  present  edition  ; 
and  from  both  of  these  gentlemen  I  have  received  yalu- 
able  assistance.     I  am  also  indebted  to  Professor  Alex- 
ander  for  some  useful  criticisms ;  and,  on  smaller  points, 
to  Principal  Lloyd  Morgan,  Professor  Sully,  Mr.  W.  1 . 
Kenwood,  Mr.  J.  A.  Clarke,  and  others.     The  publrshed 
criticisms  by  Dr.  Bosanquet,  Professor  Ritchie,  Mr.  Muir- 
head    Miss  E.  E.  C.  Jones,  and  others  have  been  very 
helpful      The  index  at  the  end  of  the  first  edition  was 
prepared  by  Mr.  H.  Holn.an  ;  that  at  the  end  of  the  present 
edition  is  the  work  of  Mr.  W.  F.  Trotter,  of  Trmity  Col- 
lege,  Cambridge,  who  has  also  given  me  much  help  m 
verifying  references. 

In  conclusion,  f-r  the  sake  of  those  who  have  been 
using  the  previous  editions,  it  may  be  well  to  give  some 
indication  of  the  principal  changes  that  have  been  made 
in  the  present  one.  An  effort  has  been  made,  in  the  first 
place,  to  render  the  method  of  treatment  more  systematic. 
With  a  view  to  this,  the  work  has  been  divided  into  five 
parts.  Of  these.  Book  III.  is  the  part  that  has  been  most 
slightly  altered.      The  only  changes  in  this  consist    in 


X 


PREFACE. 


insignificant  modifications  of  detail.     The   Concluding 
Chapter  has  to  do  duty  for  the  last  two  chapters  of  the 
former  editions,  and  has  undergone  considerable  transfor- 
mation.    The  references  to  Art  have  been  almost  entirely 
omitted,  while  the  references  to  Metaphysics  have  been 
made  a  good  deal  more  definite.     In  the  Introduction 
some  further  remarks  have  been  added  on  the  divisions 
into  which  the  treatment  of  Ethics   naturally  falls,  and 
the  statements  about  the  relation  of  Ethics  to  practical 
life  have  been  considerably  modified.     I  have  found  that 
what  I  said  on  this  subject  has  been  a  good  deal  misun- 
derstood ;  and  the  misunderstanding  seemed  to  be  due  to 
want  of  clearness  in  my  exposition,  especially  in  the  first 
chapter.     I  have,  accordingly,  added  a  good  deal  more  in 
the  way  of  explanation  in  this  chapter,  and  have  removed 
some  passages  about  the  general  nature  of  moral  law, 
which  seemed  specially  liable  to  misinterpretation,  and 
have  inserted  them  in  Book  IL,  Chap.  III.,  where  they 
are  perhaps  more  in  place.     I  have  also  added  a  chapter 
at  the  end  of  Book  II.,  dealing  with  the  general  subject 
of  the  bearing  of  Theory  on  Practice.     I  hope  I  may  have 
succeeded  in  this  way  in  removing  the  impression,  which 
appears  to  have  been  created  in  some  minds,  that  I  thought 
it  to  be  the  business  of  ethical  science  to  construct  the 
moral  life  ///  vacuo.     Nothing  could  well  have  been  fur- 
ther from  my  intention;   and,  if  I  have  overestimated 
the  practical    significance  of   philosophical  reflection,   I 
li  !\i    at  least  not  forgotten  either  the  dictum  of  Hegel  ' 

"  "  PhUosophy,  as  the  thought  of  the  world,  does  not  appear  until 

reality  has  completed  its  formative  process,  and  made  itself  ready 

When  philosophy  paints  its  grey  in  grey,  one  form  of  life  has  be- 
come old,  and  by  such  painting  it  cannot  be  rejuvenated,  but  only 
known.     The  owl  of  Minerva  takes  its  flight  only  when  the  shades 


PREFACE. 


XI 


or  the  epigram  of  Bradley,'  or  the  gibe  of  Schiller.^  I  do 
not  hold,  with  Coleridge,  that  *'  the  only  kind  of  common 
sense  worth  having  is  that  which  is  based  on  Metaphysics  ;  " 
but  I  do  certainly  believe  that  there  is  not  much  value  in 
any  kind  of  common  sense  that  cannot  be  vindicated 
by  philosophical  reflection  ;  and  I  think  that,  when  it  is 
thus  vindicated,  it  is  at  the  same  time  enlightened. 

The  most  considerable  alterations,  however,  occur  in 
Book  I.  I  have  thought  it  desirable  to  add  a  good  deal 
of  new  material  on  the  development  of  the  moral  life  and 
of  the  moral  jvdgment.  It  may  be  held  that  these  sub- 
jects belong  more  properly  to  Sociology  and  Psychology 
than  to  Ethics  in  the  stricter  sense ;  but  I  have  found  that 
their  absence  is  a  more  serious  defect  than  their  presence. 
I  have  also  added,  at  the  beginning  of  Book  II.,  a  short 
historical  account  of  the  leading  points  of  view  in  ethical 
theory. 

University  College,  Cardiff, 
May,  1897. 
of  night  are  gathering."     Preface  to  the  Rechtsphilosophie.     As  a 
counterblast  to   this,  it  may  be  remarked,  however,  that  several 
things  seem  to  have  been  rejuvenated  by  Hegel  himself. 

»  "  Metaphysics  is  the  finding  of  bad  reasons  for  what  we  believe 
upon  instinct."     Preface  to  Appearance  and  Reality.     But  are  the 
reasons  always  "  bad,"  and  are  they  always  "  for  "  ? 
2  "  Doch  weil,  was  ein  Professor  spricht, 
Nicht  gleich  zu  Allen  dringet, 
So  ubt  Natur  die  Mutterpflicht 
Und  sorgt,  dass  nie  die  Kette  bricht, 
Und  dass  der  Reif  nie  springet. 
Einstweilen,  bis  den  Bau  der  Welt 
Philosophic  zusammenhalt, 
Erhalt  sie  das  Getriebe 
Durch  Hunger  und  durch  Liebe."— Z?;>  Weitwcisen. 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   FOURTH    EDITION. 
The  chief  change  in    this   Edition   consists  in  the 

t  T.f,^  ''^^^'^  °"  "'^^^  Authority  of  the  Moral 
Standard  (Book  II.,  chapter  VI.).  This  chapter  includes 
an  account  of  the  Sanctions,  which  formerly  appeared 

^!/."°'\'°  "''^P'"'  ^'-  «'■  B°°k  III.  I  have  also 
added  a  short  note  on  the  classification  of  the  Virtues 
at  the  end  of  chapter  IV.  of  Book  III.  The  other 
alterations  in  this  Edition  are  very  slight. 

/tme,  1 900. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Chapter  I. — The  Scope  of  Ethics. 


PAGB 


3* 

4 


I  1.  Definition  :  The  Science  of  the  Ideal  in  Conduct. 
— ^  2.  The  Nature  of  Ethics.  It  is  a  Normative 
Science. — §  3.  Ethics  not  a  Practical  Science. — ^  4. 
Ethics  not  an  Art. — §  5.  Is  there  an  Art  of  Conduct  ? 
How  Conduct  is  distinguished  from  the  Arts. 
( I )  Virtue  Exists  only  in  Activity.  ( 2 )  The  Essence 
of  Virtue  lies  in  the  Will. — §  6.  Is  there  any  Science 
of  Conduct  ? — §  7.  Summary i 

Note  on  Positive  and  Normative  Sciences 20 

Chapter  II.— TheRei^ation  of  Ethics  to  Other  Sciences. 


^  1.  General  Statement. — ^  2.  Physical  Science  and  Ethics. 
— I  3.  Biology  and  Ethics. — ^  4.  Psychology  and 
Ethics. — ^  5.  Logic,  .Esthetics  and  Ethics. — §  6. 
Metaphysics  and  Ethics. — §  7.  Ethics  and  Political 
Philosophy.  —  ^8.  Ethics  and  Economics. — §9. 
Ethics  and  Paedagogics. — §  10.  Concluding  Remarks. 


23 


Chapter  III.— The  Divisions  of  the  Subject. 


I  1.  General  Remarks. — §  2.  The  Psychological  Aspect  of 
Ethics. — ^  3.  The  Sociological  Aspect  of  Ethics. — 
§  4.  The  Theories  of  the  Moral  Standard.— §  5.  The 
Concrete  Moral  Life. — ?  6.  Plan  of  the  Present 
Work 35 

•  •  • 

Xlll 


XIV 


CONTENTS. 


CONTENTS. 


XV 


BOOK   I. 


PROLEGOMENA.  CHIEFLY  PSYCHOLOGICAL. 
Chapter  I.— Desire  and  Wili,. 

1.  Introductory  Remarks. — ?  2.  General  Nature  of  Desire, 
— 'i  3.  Want  and  Appetite. — 'i  4.  Appetite  and  De 
sire. — §  5.  Universe  of  Desire. — ^  6.  Conflict  of  De- 
sires.--? 7.  Desire  and  Wish.— ^  8.  Wish  and  Will, 
— ^  9.  Will  and  Act.—?  10.  The  Meaning  of  Pur 
pose. — §  1 1 .  Will  and  Character 


Chapter  II. — Motive  and  Intention. 


Chapter  IV.— The  Evoi^ution  oe  Conduct. 


PACK 


PACK 


§  1.  Introductory  Statement.—^  2.  Germs  of  Conduct  in 
the  Lower  Animals.— §  3.  Conduct  among  Savages.— 
g  4.  The  Guidance  of  Conduct  by  Custom.— |  5.  The 
Guidance  of  Conduct  by  Law.— §  6.  The  Guidance 
of  Conduct  by  Ideas.— ^  7.  Action  and  Reflection.— 
^  8.  Moral  Ideas  and  Ideas  about  Morality.— §  9. 
The  Development  of  the  Moral  Consciousness 104 


Note  on  Sociology. 


"3 


43 


^  1.  Preliminary  Remarks. — ?  2.  The  Meaning  of  Inten- 
tion.— I  3.  The  Meaning  of  Motive. — ?  4.  Relation 
between  Motives  and  Intentions. — ?  5.  Is  the  Motive 
always  Pleasure  ? — ^  6.  Psychological  Hedonism. — 
§7.  The  Object  of  Desire,  (i)  The  Paradox  of  ' 
Hedonism. — I  8.  The  Object  of  Desire.  (2)  Wants 
prior  to  Satisfactions. — ^9.  The  Object  of  Desire.  (3.) 
Pleasures  and  Pleasure. — ?  10.  Can  Reason  Serve  as 
a  Motive  ? — ?  1 1 .  Is  Reason  the  only  Motive  ? — §  12. 
How  Motives  are  Constituted ;     5^ 

Note  on  Pleasure  and  Desire 79 


Chapter  III. — Character  and  Conduct. 

§  1.  General  Remarks.— §  2.  Character.— g  3.  Conduct. 
— §  4.  Circumstance.—^  5.  Habit.—?  6.  The  Free- 
dom of  the  Will.—?  7.  Freedom  Essential  to  Morals. 
— ?  8.  Necessity  Essential  to  Morals. — ?  9.  The  True 
Sense  of  Freedom.—^,  10.  Animal  Spontaneity.— 
§  11.  Human  Liberty.—?  12.  The  Highest  Free- 
dom.—? 13.  The  Nature  of  Voluntary  Action 83 

Note  on  Responsibilit}' loi 


4 


i 


Chapter  V.— The  Growth  of  the  Moral,  Judgment. 

2  1.  The  Earliest  Forms  of  the  Moral  Judgment— ?  2.  The 
Tribal  Self.—?  3.  The  Origin  of  Conscience.—?  4. 
Custom  as  the  Moral  Standard.—?  5.  Positive  Law  as 
the  Moral  Standard.—?  6.  The  Moral  Law.—?  7. 
Moral  Conflict.—?  8.  The  Individual  Conscience  as 
Standard.—?  9.  The  Growi:h  of  the  Reflective  Judg- 
ment.—? 10.  Illustrations  from  Ancient  Peoples.— 
?  11.  General  Nature  of  Moral  Development 114 


Chapter  VI.— The  Significance  oe  the  Moral 

Judgment. 

?  1.  The  Nature  of  the  Moral  Judgment.—?  2.  The  Object 
of  the  Moral  Judgment.—?  3.  The  Good  Will.—?  4. 
Judgment  on  Act  and  on  Agent.—?  5.  Is  the  Moral 
Judgment  concerned  with  Motives  or  with  Inten- 
tions ?— ?  6.  The  Moral  Judgment  is  partly  concerned 
with  Motives.—?  7.  But  the  Judgment  is  really  on 
Character.—?  8.  The  Subject  of  the  Moral  Judg- 
ment.—? 9.  The  Moral  Connoisseur.—?  10.  The 
Impartial  Spectator.—?  11.  The  Ideal  Self 127 

Note  on  the  Meaning  of  Conscience H^ 


XVI 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  II. 

THEORIES  OF  THE  MORAL  STANDARD. 

Chapter  I.— The  Devei^opment  of  Ethicai,  Thought. 


r\GB 


§  1.  Early  Greek  Ethics.  —  §  2.  The  vSophists.  —  g  3. 
Socrates.— g  4.  The  Schools  of  Ethical  Thought.— 
^  5.  Plato  and  Aristotle.— {J  6.  Mediaeval  Ethics. 
— ^  7.  Schoojs  of  Ethics  in  Modern  Times 147 

Chapter  II.— The  Types  oe  Ethical  Theory. 

^  1.  General  Survey.—^  2.  Reason  and  Passion.—^  3. 
The  Right  and  the  Good.— ^  4.  Duty,  Happiness, 
Perfection.—^  5.  Mixed  Theories 156 

Chapter  III.— The  Standard  as  Law. 

PartL  The  General  Idea  of  Moral  Law.  g  1.  In- 
troductory Remarks.— §  2.  The  Meaning  of  Law  in 
Ethics.— g  3.  Is,  Must  be,  and  Ought  to  be.— ^  4. 
The  Categorical  Imperative.— Part  II.  Various 
Conceptions  of  the  Moral  Law.— §  5.  The  Law 
of  the  Tribe.— ^  6.  The  Law  of  God.— §  7.  The  Law 
of  N  .ture.— ?  8.  The  Moral  Sense.— ^  9.  The  Law 
of  Conscience.— ^  10.  Intuitionism.— ^  11.  The  Law 
of  Reason.— Part  III.  The  Doctrine  of  Kant. 
?  12.  Kant's  View  of  the  Moral  Reason.— g  13. 
Criticism  of  Kant,  (i)  Formalism.— §  14.  Criti- 
cism of  Kant.  (2)  Stringency.— g  15.  Real  Signifi- 
cance of  the  Kantian  Principle 162 

Note  on  Kant 203 

Chapter  IV.— The  Standard  as  Happiness. 

I  1.  Introductory  Remarks.—?  2.  Higher  and  Lower 
Universes.—?  3.  Satisfaction  of  Desires.—?  4.  Varie- 
ties of  Hedonism.—?  5.  Ethical  Hedonism.—?  6. 
Quantity  of   Pleasure.—?  7.  Egoistic   Hedonism.— 


CONTENTS. 


XVll 


FAGB 


I  8.  Universalistic  Hedonism.—?  9.  General  Criti- 
cism of  Hedonism,  {a)  Pleasure  and  Value,  {b) 
Quality  of  Pleasures,  {c)  Kinds  of  Pleasures,  (d) 
Pleasure  inseparable  from  its  Object,  {e)  Pleasures 
cannot  be  summed.  (/)  Matter  without  Form. 
?  10.  Relation  of  Happiness  to  the  Self. — ?  11. 
Self-realisation  as  the  End 207 

Chapter  V.— The  Standard  as  Perfection. 

{  1.  Application  of  Evolution  to  Morals.—?  2.  Develop- 
ment of  Life.—?  3.  Higher  and  Lower  Views  of  De- 
velopment.—? 4.  Explanation  by  Beginning.— ?  5. 
Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  View  of  Ethics.—?  6.  Criti- 
cism o{  Mr.  Spencer's  View.—?  7.  Views  of  other 
Evolutionists.—?  8.  Natural  Selection  in  Morals.— 
?  9.  Need  of  Teleology.— ?  10.  Explanation  by  End. 
— ?  11.  Green's  View  of  Ethics.—?  12.  The  True 
Seif.— ?  13.  The  real  Meaning  of  Self -consistency.— 
?  14.  The  real  Meaning  of  Happiness.—?  15.  Transi- 
tion to  Applied  Ethics 234 

Chapter  VI.— The  Authority  of  the  Moral  Standard. 

§  1.  The  General  Problem  of  Authority.— §  2.  Different  Kinds 
of  Authority.— §  3.  Various  Views  of  Moral  Authority. — 
§  4.  The  Authority  of  Law.— §  5.  The  Sanctions  of 
Morality.— §  6.  The  Authority  of  Conscience.— §  7.  The 
Authority  of  Reason.— §  8.  The  Absoluteness  of  the  Moral 
Authority  

Chapter  VII.— The  Bearing  of  Theory  on  Practice. 


255 


§  1.  Different  Views.— §  2.  Relation  of  Different  Views  to  the 
Various  Ethical  Theories  — §  3.  The  Intuitionist  View.— 
§  4.  The  Utilitarian  View.— §  5.  The  Evolutionist  View,— 
§  e.  The  Ideahstic  View.— §  7.  Summary  of  Results.— 
§  8.  Comparison  between  Ethics  and  Logic— §  9.  The 
Treatment  of  Applied  Ethics 273 


*% 


XVlll 


CONTENTS. 


CONTENTS. 


XiX 


BOOK  III. 


TFIE   MORAL   LIFE. 


Chapter  I.— The  Social  Unity. 


u. 


Chapter  IV.— The  Virtues. 

Relation  of  the  Virtues  to  the  Commandments.— §  2.  Virtues 
relative  to  States  of  Society.-§  3.  The  Ethos  of  a  People. 
_&  4  The  Virtues  relative  to  the  Social  Functions.— 
&  5.  The  Nature  of  Virtue.-§  6.  The  Cardinal  Virtues— 
§  7.  Education  of  Character.-§  8.  The  Moral  Syllogism... 


PAGE 


352 


PAGE 


§  1.  The  Social  Self.— §  2.  Society  a  Unity.— §  3.  Egoism  and 
Altruism. — §  4.  Mr.  Spencer's  Conciliation. — §  5.  Self- 
realisation  through  Self-sacrifice.— §  6.  Ethics  a  Part  of 
Politics.— §  7.  Plato's  View  of  Ethics.— §  8.  Aristotle's 
View  of  Ethics. — §  9.  Cosmopolitism. — §  10.  Christian 
Ethics. — §  11.  The  Social  Universe. — §  12.  Society  an 
Organism. — §  13.  Why  is  the  Social  Universe  to  be  Pre- 
ferred ?— §  14.  Relation  of  Conscience  to  the  Social  Unity    291 

Chapter  II.— Moral  Institutions. 

§  1.  The  Social  Imperative. — §  2.  Justice. — §  3.  Law  and  Public 
Opinion. — §  4.  Rights  and  Obligations. — §  5.  The  Rights 
of  Man.  (a)  Life,  {b)  Freedom,  (f)  Property,  {d)  Contract. 
(e)  Education. —§  6.  Ultimate  Meaning  of  Rights  and 
Obligations. — §  7.  Social  Institutions,  (a)  The  Family. 
(^)  The  Workshop,  (c)  The  Civic  Community,  {d)  The 
Church,  (tf)  The  State.  (/)  Friendship.— §  8.  Social  Pro- 
gress.— §9.  Individualism  and  Socialism "^09 

Note  on  Justice     329 

Chapter  III. — The  Duties. 

§  1.  Nature  of  Moral  Laws.— §  2.  Respect  for  Life.— §  3.  Respect 
for  Freedom. — §  4.  Respect  for  Character. — §  5.  Respect 
for  Property. — §  6.  Respect  for  Social  O.der. — §  7.  Respect 
for  Truth.— §  8.  Respect  for  Progress.— §  9.  Casuistry. — 
§  10.  The  Supreme  Law. — §  11,  Conventional  Rules. — 
§  12.  Duties  of  Perfect  and  Imperfect  Obligation.— §  13.  My 
Station  and  its  Duties 332 

Note  on  Rules  of  Conduct  349 


Note  on  the  Classification  of  the  Virtues 37^ 

Chapter  V.— The  Individual  Life. 

§  1.  The  Higher  Individualism.-§  2.  Conversion-§  3.  Con^ 
scientiousness.-§  4.  Self-Exammation.-§  5.  The  Study 
of  the  Ideal.-§  6.  The  Monastic  Life.-§  7.  Beautiful 
Souls.-§  8.  Asceticism.-§  9.  The  Contemplative  Life.- 
§  10.  Relation  v  f  the  Inner  to  the  Outer  Life.-§  11.  ^^^ 
Virtuous  Man  and  the  World.-§  12.  The  Moral  Reformer  374 


§L 


Chapter  VI.— Moral  Pathology. 

Moral  Evil.-§  2.  Vice.-§  3.  Sin.-§  4.  Crime.-§  5  Punish- 
ment -§  6.  Theories  of  Punishment.-§  7.  Responsibility. - 
§  8.'  Remorse.-§  9.  Reformation.-§  10.  Forgiveness.- 
§  11.  Social  Corruption  

Chapter  VII.— Moral  Progress. 

§  1.  Social  Evolution.-§  2.  The  Moral  Universe. -§  3.  Inner 

^  Contradictions  in  our  Universe.-§  4.  Sense  of  Incomplete- 

ness.-§5.  Deepening  of  Spiritual  Life.  -  §  6.  New  Obli- 

gations.-§  7.  Moral  Change  and  Change  of  Environment.- 

§  a  The  Ideal  Universe 

Concluding  Chapter.-Ethics  and  Metaphysics. 

§  L  General  Remarks.-§  2.  Validity  of  the  Ideal  -§  3.  Morality 
and  Religion.-§  4.  The   Relation  of  Religion  to  Art.- 


393 


413 


3tX  CONTENTS. 

^  5.  The  Necessity  of  Religion.— §  6.  The  Failureof  Life.— '"^^^ 
§  7.  The  Failure  of  Society.— §  8.  The  Failure  of  Art.— 
§  9.  The  Demand  for  the  Infinite.— §  10.  The  Two  In- 
finites.—§  11.  The  First  Religion.— §  12.  The  Second 
Religion.— §  13.  The  Third  Religion.— §  14.  Religion  and 
Superstition.— §  15.  The  Essential  Significance  of  Religion. 
— §  16.  The  Ultimate  Problems  of  Metaphysics 431 

Appendix.    Note  on  Ethical  Literature 455 

^^^^^    459 


INTRODUCTION. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    SCOPE    OF    ETHICS. 

§  1.  Definition.  The  Science  of  the  Ideal  in  Con- 
duct.— Ethics  is  the  science  of  Conduct.  It  considers 
the  actions  of  human  beings  with  reference  to  their 
Tightness  or  wrongness,  their  tendency  to  good  or  t  . 
evil.  The  name  ''Ethics"  is  derived  from  the  Greek 
rdrjOixd.  This  again  comes  from  ^^09,  meaning  char- 
acter ;  and  this  is  connected  with  £^^9.  custom  or 
habit.  Similarly,  the  term  ''  Moral  Philosophy,"  wliu  It 
means  the  same  thing  as  Ethics,  is  derived  from  the 
Latin  mores,  meaning  habits  or  customs.  Ethics, 
then,  we  rnay  say,  discusses  men's  habits  and  cus- 
toms, or  in  other  words  their  characters,  the  principles 
on  which  they  habitually  act,  and  considers  what  it  is 
that  constitutes  the  rightness  or  wrongness  of  these 
principles,  the  good  or  evil  of  these  habits.  These 
terms,  however,  "Right"  and  *'Good,"  seem  to  re- 
c|uiie  a  little  explanation. 

(a)  Right.  The  term  ''Right"  is  derived  from  the 
Latin  rectus,  meaning  "straight"  or  "according  to 
rule."  The  Greek  word  corresponding  to  it  \^  <^lxa(og, 
which    also    meant    originally     "according    to   rule." 

Eth.  I 


ETHICS. 


[lNTROD.,CH.  I. 


When  we  say,  then,  that  conduct  is  ri^ht,  we  mean 
primarily  that  it  is  according  to  rule.  Rules,  however, 
have  reference  to  some  result  to  be  achieved  by  them  ; 
and  it  is  this  fact  that  is  indicated  by  the  second  term, 

'  ♦  Good. " 

{b)  Good.  The  term  '^  Good  "  is  connected  with  the 
German  guiy  and  contains  the  same  root  as  the  Greek 
ayaOo^.  A  thing  is  generally  said  to  be  good  when  it 
is  valuable  for  some  end.  Thus,  particular  kinds  of 
medicine  are  said  to  be  good  for  this  or  that  complaint. 
Similarly,  when  we  speak  of  conduct  as  good,  we  may 
mean  that  it  is  serviceable  for  the  end  we  have  in 
view.*  It  should  be  carefully  observed,  however,  that 
the  term  "good"  is  also  used  (perhaps  even  more  fre- 
qnently)  to  signify  not  something  which  is  a  mea?is  to 
an  end,  but  something  which  is  itself  taken  as  an  end. 
Thus  the  surnmum  bonum,  or  supreme  good,  means  the 
supreme  end  at  which  we  aim. 

Thus,  when  we  say  that  the  science  of  Ethics  is  con- 
cerned with  the  rightness  or  goodness  of  human  con- 
duct, we  mean  that  it  is  concerned  with  the  considera- 
tion of  the  serviceableness  of  our  conduct  for  some  end 
at  which  we  aim,  and  with  the  rules  by  which  our 
conduct  is  to  be  directed  in  order  that  this  end  may  be 
attained.^  But  if  we  are  to  consider  the  serviceable- 
ness of  our  actions  to  an  end,  and  the  rules  by  which 
this  end  is  to  be  attained,  it  is  evident  that  we  must 
have  some  understanding  of  the  nature  of  the  end  it- 
self.    Now  there  are  many  ends  to  which  our  actions 

1  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  65.  Also,  Spencer's  Data  of 
Ethics,  chap.  iii. 

-  This  statement  must  be  regarded  as  provisional.  It  is  to  some 
extent  moditied  by  the  following  paragraphs. 


§1.] 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


3 


may  be  directed,  e.  g.  the  building  of  a  house,  the  writ- 
ing of  a  book,  the  passing  of  an  examination,  and  so 
on.     But  since  Ethics  is  the  science  of  Conduct  as  a 
whole,  and  not  of  any  particular  kinds  of  Conduct,  it 
is  not' any  of  these  special  ends  that  it  sets  itself  to 
consider,  but  the  supreme  or  ultimate  end  to  which 
our  whole  lives  are  directed.     This  end  is  commonly 
referred  to  as  the  Surnmum  Bonum  or  Supreme  Good. 
Now  it  is  no  doubt  open  to  question  at  the  outset, 
whether  there  can  be  said  to  be  any  one  supreme  end 
in  human  life.     Men  aim  at  various  objects.      Some 
desire  wealth ;  others,  independence  ;  others,  power.. 
Some   are   eager   for   fame;    others,   for   knowledge; 
others,   for  love  ;  and  some  again  find  their  highest 
good  in  loving  and  serving  others.  *     Some  are  fond  of 
excitement ;   others,  of  peace.     Some   fill   their  lives 
with  many-sided  interests— art   and  science,  and  the 
develcpment  of  social  and  political  institutions  ;  others 
are  tempted  to  regard  all  these  as  vanity,  and  some- 
times even,  turning  from  them  all  in  disgust,  to  believe 
that  the  best  thing  of  all  would  be  to  die  and  be  at 
rest  ;^  while  others  again  fix  their  highest  hopes  011  a 
life  beyond  death,  to  be  perfected  in  a  better  world 
than  this.     But   a  little  consideration  serves  to  show 
that  many  of  these  ends  cannot  be  regarded  as  ulti- 

1 »  This  is  shown  by  the  delight  that  mothers  take  in  loving  ;  for 
some  give  their  children  to  others  to  rear,  and  love  them  smce  they 
know  them,  but  do  not  look  for  love  in  return,  if  it  be  impossible  to 
have  both,  being  content  to  see  their  children  doing  well,  and  lovmg 
them,  though  they  receive  from  them,  in  their  ignorance,  nothmg  of 
what  is  due  to  a  mother."-Aristotle's  Ethics,  VIII.  vni.  3. 

^See,  for  instance.  Shakespeare's  Sonnet  LXVI.-"  Tired  with  all 
1  hi  M',  for  restful  death  I  cry,"  &c.,  and  cj.  Byron  and  the  modern 
iVbbimists,  passim. 


ETHICS. 


[INTROD.,  CH.  I. 


n   i  If,  for  instance,  we  were  to  question  those  who 

arc  seeking  for  wealth  or  independence  or  power,  we 
should  generally  find  that  they  would  explain  their 
desire  for  these  objects  by  enumerating  the  advantages 
which  the  attainment  of  the  desired  objects  would 
bring.  The  possibility  of  such  an  explanation  proves 
that  these  objects  are  not  regarded  as  ultimate  ends  by 
those  who  pursue  them,  but  are  desired  for  the  sake  of 
something  else.  Still,  we  hardly  seem  to  be  justified 
in  starting  with  the  assumption  that  there  is  any  one 
ultimate  end  in  human  life.  The  question  whether 
any  such  end  can  be  discovered  is  rather  one  that 
must  be  discussed  in  the  course  of  our  study.  What 
II  !S  necessary  for  us  to  assume  is  simply  that  there  is 
s(  1  ideal  \\\  life,  i.  e.  that  there  is  some  standard  of 
iudi' iTient  by  reference  to  which  we  are  able  to  say 
th  ti  <)ne  form  of  conduct  is  better  than  another.  What 
I  '  nature  of  this  ideal  or  standard  is — whether  it  has 
r  ;  nee  to  a  single  ultimate  end,  to  a  set  of  rules 
imposed  upon  us  by  some  authority,  to  an  ideal  type 
tji  i.uiiuiii  life  which  we  are  somehow  enabled  to  form 
for  ourselves,  or  in  what  other  possible  way  it  is  deter- 
mined— we  must  endeavour  to  discover  as  we  go  on. 
In  the  meantime  it  seems  sufficient  to  define  Ethics  as 
/   '  science  of  the  ideal  involved  in  human  life.^ 

i,  2.  The  Nature  of  Ethics.  //  is  a  Normative  Sci- 
ence.— The  fact  that  Ethics  is  concerned  with  an  end 
or  ideal  or  standard  serves  at  once  to  distinguish  it 
fr!»!ii    most    other   sciences.       Most  sciences  are  con- 

'% 
1  On  the  general  nature  of  the  science  of  Ethics,  the  reader  may 
consult   Sidgvvick's  History  of  Ethics,  Chap.  I.  ;  Muirhead's  Elements 
of  Ethics,  Book  I.;   Dewey's   0«///>ics  o/ £//nc5,  Introduction  ;  and 
Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics.  Book  I.,  Chap.  I. 


LI 


§2.] 


THE  SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


cerned  with  certain   u.uformities  of  our  experience- 
with  the  ways  in  which  certain  classes  of  objects  (such 
as  rocks  or  plants)  are  found  to  exist,  or  with  the  ways 
in  which  certain  classes  of  events  (such  as  the  phe- 
nomena of  sound  or  electricity)  are  found  to  occur. 
Such  sciences  have  no  direct  reference  to  any  end  that 
is  to  be  achieved  or  to  any  ideal  by  reference  to  which 
the  facts  are  judged.     The  knowledge  which  they  com- 
municate may,  indeed,  be  useful  for  certain  purposes^ 
N  knowledge  about  rocks  is  useful  for  those  who  wish 
to  build  houses  or  to  sink  mines.     A  knowledge  abou 
electricity  is  useful  for  those  who  wish  to  protect  ti,._,r 
buildings  or  to  form  telegraphic  communications.      l>ut 
the  truth  of  the  sciences  that  deal  with  '"ch  subjects 
as  these  is  in  no  way  affected  by  the  ends  wh>ch  they 
may  thus  be  made  to   subserve.      Knowledge  about 
the  nebute  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  science  of  astron- 
omy as  knowledge  about  the  solar  system,  though  the 
latter  can  be  directly  turned  to  account  in  the  ar.  -> 
navigation,  w.iile  the  former  has    no  direct  prnctual 
utility.     The  science  of  Ethics,  then,  is  distinguished 
from  the  natural  sciences,  inasmuch  as  it  has  a  direct 
reference  to  an   end  that  men  desire  to   attain,  ur  a 
tvpe  to  which  they  wish  to  approximate. 

It  is  not  by  any  means  the  only  science,  however, 
which  has  such  a  reference.     On  the  contrary    there  is 
a  whole  class  of  sciences  of  this  character       These  arc 
commonly  called  the  normalwe  sciences-    e.  tae  sci- 
ences that  lay  down  rules  or  laws  or,  nioix-   .tncay, 
that  seek  to  define  a  standard  or  ideal  with  relen.,ce 
,^,  ,,,,i,U  rules  or  laws  maybe  formulated.     Ot  .... 
„„a   ,r.  the  science    of    medicin.    (i.    e.    Hygienics), 
;i..,  acals  with  the  nature  of  the  distinction  between 


ETHICS. 


[INTROD,,  CH.  I. 


health  and  disease,  and  with  the  rules  to  be  observed 
for  the  attainment  of  health,  or  for  the  avoidance  and 
removal  of  disease  ;  the  science  of  architecture,  virhich 
deals  with  the  types  to  be  aimed  at  and  the  rules  to  be 
observed  in  the  construction  of  buildings,  with  a  view 
to    their   stability,   convenience,    and  beauty  ;  the  sci- 
ence of  navigation,    which    deals  with  the  aims  and 
principles  involved  in  the  management   of  ships  ;  the 
science  of  rhetoric,  which  deals  with  the  principles  of 
persuasiveness    and    beauty  of  style  ;  the   science   of 
logic,  which  deals  with  the  conditions  of  correct  think- 
ing.     Most  of  these  sciences  are  of  a  mixed  character, 
being  partly  concerned  with  the  analysis  of  facts,  and 
partly  with  the  definition  of  ends  or  ideals  and  with 
the   statement    of  rules    to    be    observed    for   the  at- 
tainment  of  them.      Thus   the    science    of   medicine 
deals  with  the  facts  of  disease  as   well   as   with    the 
nature  and  conditions  of  health,   and  the  science  of 
architecture   discusses    the   ways   in   which  buildings 
have  been   constructed  at   various    periods   of  man's 
history,  as  well  as  the  ways  in  which  it  is  most  desir- 
able that  buildings  should  be  constructed.     Sometimes, 
indeed,   these  two  sides  of  a  science    are   so   evenly 
balanced,  that  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  it  ought 
properly  to  be  regarded  as  a  natural  or  a  normative 
science.      This    is    notably    the    case    with    regard   to 
political  economy.      But  in  all  such  cases  it  is  possible 
to  separate  the  two  sides  of  the  science,  and  to  con- 
sider them  as  forming  in   reality  two  distinct,  though 
closely  connected,  sciences. 

In  the  case  of  Ethics,  the  normative  side  is  by  far 
the  more  important ;  but  the  other  side  is  not  entirely 
absent.     There  are  ethical  facts  as  well  as  ethical  laws 


§2.] 


THE   SCOPE   OF  ETHICS. 


and  Ideals.     Thus  the  ideas  of  the  Thugs,    who   are 
said  to  regard  murder  as  a  supreme  duty,  constitute  an 
important  fact  in  the  moral  life  of  a  certain  section  of 
mankind  ;  but  no  scientific  system   of  ethics  is  ever 
likely  to  include  such  a  duty  in  its  statement  of  the 
moral  ideal,  any  more  than  a  system  of  medicine  is 
likely  to  express  approval  of  extensive  indulgence  in 
alcohol  or  tight  lacing.     This  *is  no  doubt  a  somewhat 
extreme   case;    but    there   are   in    every    community 
certain  peculiarities  of  the   moral  sense  which  are  in 
reality  quite  analogous.     Thus,   much  of  the  conduct 
which    is   regarded    as   fine   and   noble    in   a  modern 
Englishman,    would   probably   have    seemed    almos 
unintelligible  to  a  cultivated  Athenian  or  to  a  devou 
Tew  in  the   ancient  world  ;  and  much  of  the   conduct 
that  one  of  the  latter  would  have  praised,  would  seem 
to  the  modern  Englishman  to  lack  delicacy  or  human- 
ity     Now,  some  of  the  differences  which  occur  in  the 
moral  codes  of  different  peoples  are  not  without  mean- 
ing even  for  the  student  of  the  moral  ideal.     A  reflective 
moralist,  to  whatever  school  of  thought  he  might  belong 
would  not  approve  of  quite  the  same  conduct  under  all 
conditions  of  life,  any  more  than  a  thoughtful  physician 
would  prescribe  the  same  regimen  to  an  inhabitant  ot 
Canada  as  to  an  inhabitant  of  India.     Different  circum- 
stances bring  different  obligations  ;  and  in  the  general 
proo-ress  of  history,  there  is  a  progress  in  the  nature  ot 
the'duties  that  are  imposed  on  men.     As  Lowell  says- 

"  New  occasions  teach  new  duties  : 
Time  makes  ancient  good  uncouth." 

Even  the  strictest  of  moralists,  therefore,  might  admit 
difTerences   in   ethical    codes   at   different    times    and 


8  ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  I. 

places.      But  the  differences  which  we  actually  find  are 
not  all  of  this  nature.      No  system  of  medicine  would 
commend  opium  and  crushed  feet ;  and  no  system  of 
ethics  would  regard  with  equal  approval  the  Code  of 
Honour,  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount.      But  all  these  are  ethical  facts,  and  have  an 
equal  right  to  be  chronicled  as  such,  though  they  have 
not  an  equal  right  to  be  approved.     There  is  a  marked 
difference,  therefore,  between  the  science  which  deals 
with  the/^c/5  of  the  moral  life  and  that  which  deals 
with  the  rules  and  ideals  of  the  moral  life.      The  former 
science  is  a  part  of  that  wider  science  which  deals  with 
the  general  structure  of  societies— the  science  which  is 
usually  known  as  Sociology.     The  latter  science,   on 
the  other  hand,  is  that  to  which  the  name  of  Ethics  is 
more  strictly  appropriated  ;  and  it  is  with  it  alone,  or 
at    least  mainly,    that    we  shall   be  concerned  in   the 
present    work.     The    former    is    a  natural  or  positive 
science;  the  latter   is    a   normative  science.      But,    of 
course,   in  dealing   with  the   latter,    we  can    scarcely 
avoid  touching  on  the  former. 

§  3.  Ethics  not  a  Practical  Science.— -There  is, 
however,  still  another  distinction  which  it  is  important 
to  draw.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  sciences  referred 
to  in  the  foregoing  paragraph  as  normative  are  not  all 
of  quite  the  same  kind.  Some  of  them  are  definitely 
coi>cerned  with  the  consideration  of  the  means  required 
for  the  realisation  of  certain  assignable  ends,  while 
others  are  more  directly  interested  in  the  elucidation 
of  the  ends  or  ideals  involved  in  certain  forms  of 
activity.  Perhaps  it  would  be  best  to  confine  the  term 
"normative"  to  the  latter  kind  of  science,  while  the 
former  might  be  more  appropriately  described  as  ' '  prac- 


§3-] 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


^ 


tical."     Medicine  (Hygienics)  is    a   practical  science, 
rather  than  a  normative  one,  since  its  aim  is  not  so 
much  that  of  understanding   the  ideal  of   health^  as 
that  of  ascertaining   the  means  by  which  health  may 
be  best  produced.     Now,    the  science  of  Ethics   has 
sometimes  been  regarded  as  a  practical  science  in  this 
sense.     It  is  generally  so  regarded  by   those   writers 
who   think  that    it    is  possible  to  formulate  some  one 
simple  end  at  which  human  beings  ought  to  aim  as  the 
sumvmm  bonurn.     Thus,  what  is  commonly  known  as 
the  Utilitarian  school  regards  the   attainment  of  "the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number  "  as  the  end 
to  be  aimed  at,  and  conceives  that  it  is  the  business  of 
Ethics  to  consider  the  means  by  which  this   end  may 
be  attained,  just  as   the  scientific    student    of  public 
health  may  consider  the  best  means  for  preventing  the 
spread  of  an  infectious  disease.     The  extent  to  which, 
if  at  all,  it  is  possible  to  treat  Ethics  in  this  way,  will 
have  to  be  considered  at  a  later  stage,  after  we  have 
discussed  the  different  views  that  may  be  taken  of  the 
nature  of  the  moral  ideal.      We  shall  then  see  grounds 
for  thinking  that  the  moral  life  cannot  be  regarded  as 
directed  towards    the    attainment  of  any  one  simple 
result,  and  that  consequently  the  means  of  attaining 
the  moral  ideal  cannot  be  formulated  in  any  definite  set 
of  rules.     In  so  far  as  this  is  the  case,  the  science  of 
Ethics  cannot  properiy  be  described  as  practical.      It 
must  content   itself  with  unders.  ending  the  nature  of 
the  ideal,  and  must  not  hope  to  formulate  rules  for  its 
attainment.      Hence  most  wSters  on  Ethics  have  pre- 
ferred to  treat  it  as  a  purely  speculative,  rather  than  as 
a  practical  science.     This  is  probably  the  best  view  to 
1  Perhaps  this  is  more  properly  the  function  of  Physiology. 


lO 


ETHICS. 


[INTROD.,  CH.  I. 


§4.] 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


II 


!l 


take.  At  any  rate,  it  is  important  to  observe  tliat  the 
description  of  Ethics  as  "  normative"  does  not  involve 
j  the  view  that  it  has  any  direct  bearing  on  practice.  It 
is  the  business  of  a  normative  science  to  define  an 
i  ideal,  not  to  lay  down  rules  for  its  attainment.  Esthe- 
tics, for  instance,  is  u  normative  science,  concerned 
with  the  standard  of  Beauty  ;  but  it  is  no  part  of  its 
business  to  inquire  how  Beauty  is  produced.  So  with 
Ethics.  It  discusses  the  ideal  of  goodness  or  rightness, 
and  is  not  directly  concerned  with  the  means  by  which 
this  ideal  may  be  realised. 

Ethics,  then,  though  a  normative  science,  is  not  to  be 
regarded  as  a  practical  science. ' 

§4.  Ethics  not  an  Art.  If  ?4hics  is  not  strictly  to 
be  classed  as  a  practical  science,  it  ought  still  less  to 
be  described  as  an  art.  Yet  the  question  has  sometimes 
been  raised,  with  regard  both  to  Logic  and  to  Ethics, 
whether  both  these  departments  of  study  are  not  rather 
of  the  nature  of  arts  than  of  sciences,^  since  they  have 
both  a  certain  reference  to  practice.  Logic  has  some- 
times been  called  the  Art  of  Thinking, 3  and  though 
Ethics  has  perhaps  never  been  described  as  the  Art  of 
Conduct,  yet  it  has  often  been  treated  as  if  it  were  di- 
rectly concerned  with  that  art.  Now,  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  it  is  quite  correct  to  speak  of  an  art  of 
thinking  or  of  an  art  of  conduct  at  all.  This  is  a  ques- 
tion to  which  we  shall  shortly  return.  But  at  any  rate 
it  is  now  generally  recognized  that  it  is  best  to  treat 

1  The  extent  to  which  it  may  be  regarded  as  bearing  on  practice 
is  discussed  below,  Book  II.,  chap.  vii.  All  the  statements  made  in 
the  present  chapter  must  be  regarded  as  provisional. 

3  C/.  Welton's  Manual  of  Logic,  vol,  i.  p.  12. 

8  This  was,  in  particular,  the  title  of  the  Port  Royal  Logic. 


both  Logic  and  Ethics  as  having  no  direct  bearing  upon 
these  arts.  It  may  be  well,  however,  to  notice  the 
reasons  which  have  led  to  the  view  that  these  sciences 
are  of  the  nature  of  arts. 

In  the  case  of  every  practical  science,  the  question  is 
apt  to  present  itself,  whether  we  are  really  concerned 
with  a  science  at  all  or  rather  with  an  art.  And  the 
answer  seems  to  be,  that  if  we  insist  on  drawing  an  abso- 
lute distinction  between  a  science  and  an  art,  a  practical 
science  must  be  regarded  as  lying  midway  between 
them.  A  science,  it  is  said,  teaches  us  /o  know,  and  an 
art  /o  do  ; '  but  a  practical  science  teaches  us  io  know 
how  to  do.  Since,  however,  such  a  science  is  primarily 
concerned  with  the  communication  of  knowledge,  it  is 
more  properly  to  be  described  as  a  science  than  as  an 
art  ;  but  it  is  a  kind  of  science  that  has  a  very  direct 
relation  to  a  corresponding  art.  There  is  scarcely  any 
art  that  is  not  indirectly  related  to  a  great  number  of 
different  sciences.  The  art  of  painting,  for  instance, 
may  derive  useful  lessons  from  the  sciences  of  optics, 
anatomy,  botany,  geology,  and  a  great  variety  of 
others.  The  art  of  navigation,  in  like  manner,  is  much 
aided  by  the  sciences  of  astronomy,  magnetism, 
acoustics,  hydrostatics,  and  many  more.  But  such 
relationships  are  comparatively  indirect.  The  depend- 
ence of  an  art  upon  its  corresponding  practical  science 
is  of  a  very  much  closer  character.  The  art  of  rhetoric 
is  a  direct  application  of  the  science  of  rhetoric,  so  far 
as  there  is  any  such  science  ;  and  the  art  of  fencing,  of 
the  science  of  fencing.  Indeed,  if  a  practical  science 
could  be  completely  worked  out  into  all  its  details,  the 

1  C/.  Jevons's  Elementary  Logic,  p.  7  ;  Welton's  Manual  of  Logic, 
vol.  i.  p.  12  ;  MWVs  Logic,  Introduction. 


12 


ETHICS. 


f  INTROD.,  CH.  I. 


g5.] 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


13 


art  corresponding  to  it  would  contain  nothing  which  is 
not  included  in  the  science.  Perhaps  this  is  the  case 
with  such  an  art  as  that  of  fencing.  Still,  even  here  the 
science  and  the  art  are  clearly  distinguishable.  A  man 
may  be  quite  familiar  with  the  science,  and  yet  not  be 
skilled  in  the  art  ;  and  vice  versa.  But  in  most  cases 
the  distinction  is  even  more  marked  than  this  :  for  the 
art  usually  includes  a  great  deal  that  we  are  not  able 
to  reduce  to  science  at  all.  Indeed,  some  arts  are  so 
entirely  dependent  on  the  possession  of  a  peculiar 
knack  or  dexterity,  or  of  a  peculiar  kind  of  genius,  that 
they  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  any  science  corre- 
sponding to  them  at  all.  Thus,  for  example,  there  is 
no  science  of  cookery,  there  is  no  science  of  sleight- 
of-hand,  there  is  no  science  of  making  jokes,  and  there 
is  no  science  of  poetry.  * 

Now  there  is  no  doubt  a  sense  in  which  conduct,  as 
well  as  thinking,  may  be  said  to  be  an  art.=*  Both  of 
these  are  activities  presupposing  certain  natural  gifts, 
proceeding  upon  certain  principles,  and  made  perfect 
by  practice.  But  such  an  art  as  either  of  these  seems 
clearly  to  be  one  that  cannot  be  subjected  to  exact 
scientific  treatment.  Men  of  moral  genius  and  large 
experience  of  life  may  communicate  the  fruits  of  their 

1  Poetry  used  to  be  known  as  "  the  gay  science  ; "  but  the  word 
"  science"  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  "art."  The  failure  to  distin- 
guish between  these  two  terms  has  given  rise  to  much  confusion. 
Thus,  when  Carlyle  called  political  economy  **  the  dismal  science," 
he  meant  to  contrast  it  with  poetry.  But  it  is  now  generally  recog- 
nized th:it  political  economy  is  a  science  in  the  stricter  sense,  though 
partly  a  practical  science,  and  is  not  to  be  classed  with  arts  like 
poetry. 

2  A  recent  t^ook  by  Mr.  N.  P.  Oilman  and  Mr.  E.  P.  Jackson,  is  en- 
titled Conduct  as  a  Fine  Art ;  but  this  reminds  one  somewhat  of  De 
Quince y's  essay  on  "  Murder  regarded  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts." 


experience  to  mankind,  and  may  thus  be  said  to  in- 
struct them  in  the  art  of  conduct.  But  it  is  certainly 
not  the  business  of  a  student  of  ethical  science  as  such 
to  be  a  prophet  or  preacher.  Even  if  Ethics  were  in 
the  strict  sense  a  practical  science,  it  could  still  only 
deal  with  the  general  principles  involved  in  human  ac- 
tion. But  action  itself  is  concerned  with  the  particular, 
which  can  never  be  exhausted  by  general  principles. 
For  the  communication  of  the  art  of  conduct  "ex- 
ample is  better  than  precept,"  and  experience  is  better 
than  either  ;  so  that  even  if  it  were  the  business  of 
Ethics  to  lay  down  precepts  (t.  e.  if  it  were  a  practical 
science),  these  precepts  would  still  not  suffice  for  in- 
struction in  the  art  of  life.  But  as  Ethics  is  a  norma- 
tive, rather  than  a  practical,  science,  it  is  not  even  its 
primary  business  to  lay  down  precepts  at  all,  but  rather 
to  define  the  ideal  involved  in  life.  How  far  the  defini- 
tion of  this  ideal  may  lead  on  to  practical  precepts,  is 
a  matter  for  future  consideration,    j^^*^ 

§  6.  Is  THERE  ANY  Art  of  Conduct.? — We  may,  how- 
ever, proceed  further,  and  ask  whether  it  is  strictly 
legitimate  to  speak  of  an  Art  of  Conduct  at  all.  A 
little  consideration  suffices  to  show  that  such  a  con- 
ception is  in  the  highest  degree  questionable.  No 
doubt  the  term  Art  may  be  used  in  somewhat  different 
senses.  The  Industrial  Arts  are  not  quite  of  the  same 
nature  as  the  Fine  Arts.  The  former  are  directed  to 
the  production  of  objects  useful  for  some  ulterior  end  ; 
whereas  the  objects  produced  by  the  latter  are  rather 
ends  in  themselves.  But  in  both  cases  there  is  a  defi- 
nite product  which  it  is  the  object  of  the  Art  to  bring 
forth.  Now  in  the  case  of  morality,  at  least  on  a 
prima  facie  view,  this  is  not  true.     There  is  no  product 


14 


ETHICS. 


[INTROD.,  CH.  I. 


§5.] 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


in  this  case,  but  only  an  activity.  Of  course  it  may 
be  said  that  the  activity  is  valued  with  reference  to  a 
certain  ultimate  end,  i.  e.  to  the  sum?nu7?L  bonttm.  How 
far  this  is  true,  we  shall  have  to  consider  in  the  course 
of  our  study  ;  but  it  would,  at  any  rate,  be  mislead- 
ing at  the  outset  to  think  of  conduct  as  being  of  the 
same  nature  as  the  Arts,  whether  Industrial  or  Ex- 
pressive. It  may  be  convenient  to  sum  up  the  dif- 
ferences in  the  following  way. 

(i)  Viriue  exis/s  o?ily  in  activity. — A  good  painter  is 
one  who  can  paint  beautifully  :  a  good  man  is  not  one 
who  call,  but  one  who  does,  act  rightly.  The  good 
painter  is  good  when  he  is  asleep  or  on  a  journey,  or 
when,  for  any  other  reason,  he  is  not  employed  in  his 
art. '  The  good  man  is  not  good  when  asleep  or  on  a 
journey,  unless  when  it  is  good  to  sleep  or  to  go  on  a 
journey.  Goodness  is  not  a  capacity  or  potentiality, 
b^ut  an  activity  ;  in  Aristotelian  language,  it  is  not  a 
^6va/iJs%  but  an  iApyeia. 

This  is  a  simple  point,  and  yet  it  is  a  point  that  pre- 
sented great  difficulty  to  ancient  philosophers.  By 
nothing    perhaps  were  they  so    much    misled   as  by 


1  Cf.  Aristotle's  Ethics,  I.  viii.  9.  Of  course,  we  judge  the  goodness 
of  a  painter  by  the  work  that  he  does  ;  but  the  point  is  that  he  may 
cease  to  act  without  ceasing  to  be  a  skilled  artist.  A  good  painter 
may  decide  to  paint  no  more  ;  but  a  good  man  cannot  decide  to  re- 
tire from  the  life  of  virtuous  activity,  or  even  to  take  a  rest  from  it. 
There  are  no  holidays  from  virtue.  Charles  Lamb,  indeed,  has 
suggested  that  a  leading  element  in  the  enioyment  of  certain  forms 
of  Comedy  consists  in  the  fact  that  they  free  us  from  the  burden  of 
our  habitual  moral  consciousness.  This  may  be  true  ;  but  if  any 
one  were  to  seek  for  a  holiday  by  actually  practising  the  modes  of 
life  depicted  in  these  Comedies,  h^  would,  so  far,  have  ceased  to  be 
virtuous. 


V 


'? 


I 


15 


the   analogy  of  virtue  to   the  arts.^     Thus  in    Plato's 
Republic,    Socrates  is  represented    as    arguing    that  if 
justice  consists  in  keeping  property  safe,  the  just  man 
must  be  a  kind  of  thief ;  for  the  same  kind  of  skill  which 
enables  a  man  to  defend  property,  will  also  enable  him 
to  steal  it.^*     The  answer  to  this  is,  that  justice  is  not  a 
kind  of  skill,  but  a  kind  of  activity.     The  just  man   is 
not  merely  one  who  can,  but  one  who  does,  keep  pro- 
perty safe.       Now  though  the  capacity   of  preserving 
property  may  be  identical  with  the  capacity  of  appro- 
priating it,  the  act  of  preserving  is  certainly   very  dif- 
ferent from  the  act  of  appropriating.     The  man  who 
knows  precisely  what  the   truth  about   any  matter  is, 
would  undoubtedly,   as  a  general  rule,    be  the   most 
competent  person  to  invent  lies   with   respect   to  the 
same   matter.     Yet  the  truth-speaker  and  the  liar  are 
very  different  persons  ;    because  they  are  not  merely 
men  who  possess  particular  kinds  of  capacity,  but  men 
who  act  in  particular    ways.      Often,    indeed,  the  most 
atrocious  liars  have  no  special   capacity  for  the  art. 
And  so  also  it  is  with  other  vices.      ''The  Devil,"  it  is 
said,  *'  is  an  Ass." 

(2)  TJie  Essence  of  Virtue  lies  in  the  W^/7/.— The  man 
who  is  a  bungler  in  any  of  the  particular  arts  may  be 
a  very  worthy  and  well-meaning  person  ;  but  the  best 
intentions  in  the  world  will  not  make  him  a  good 
artist.  In  the  case  of  virtuous  action,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  Kant  says,  3  -  a  good  will  is  good  not  because 

1  This  does  not  apply  to  Aristotle.    See  the  passage  referred  to  in 
the  preceding  note. 

2  Of  course,  Plato  intended  this  for  a  joke  ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether 
he  knew  exactly  where  the  fallacy  comes  in. 

8  Metaphysic  of  Morals,  I. 


1 6 


ilTHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  I. 


of  what  it  performs  or  effects,  not  by  its  aptness  for 
the  attainment  of  some  proposed  end,  but  simply  by 
virtue  of  the  volition."     ''  Even   if  it  should  happen 
that,  owing  to  a   special   disfavour  of  fortune,  or  the 
niggardly  provision  of  a  step-motherly  nature,  this  will 
should  wholly  lack  power  to  accomplish  its  purpose, 
if  with  its  grea-test  efforts  it  should  yet  achieve  nothing, 
and  there  should  remain  only  the  good  will  (not,  to  be 
sure,  a  mere  wish,  but  the  summoning  of  all  means  in 
our  power),  then,  like  a  jewel,  it  would  still  shine  by 
its  own  light,  as  a  thing  which  has  its  whole  value  in 
itself."     In  like  manner,  Aristotle  says  '  of  a  good  man 
living  in  circumstances  in  which  he  cannot  find  scope 
for  his  highest  virtues,  diakdinzEi  to  xakov,  "his  nobility 
shines  through."     It  is  true  that  even  in  the  fine  arts 
purpose   counts   for   something;    and    a    stammering 
utterance  may  be  not  without  a  grace  of  its  own.^     In 
conduct  also,  if  a  man  blunders  entirely,  we  generally 
assume   that    there  was  some  flaw  in  his  purpose- 
that  he  did  not  reflect  sufficiently,  or  did  not  will  the 
good   with   sufficient   intensity.      Still,  the   distinction 
remains,  that  in  art  the  ultimate  appeal  is  to  the  work 
achieved,  whereas  in  morals  the  ultimate  appeal  is  to 
the  inner  aim.     Or  rather,  in  morals  the  achievement 

1  Ethics,  I.  X.  12. 

a  Cf.  Browning's  Andrea  del  Sarto  .— 

"  That  arm  is  wrongly  put— and  there  again— 
A  fault  to  pardon  in  the  drawing's  lines, 
Its  body,  so  to  speak  :  its  soul  is  right, 
He  means  right— that,  a  child  may  understand." 

But  here  Art  is  being  judged  almost  from  an  ethical,  rather  than 
from  a  purely  lesthetical  point  of  view.  "  He  means  right,"  is  not  an 
sesthetical  judgment,  (though,  of  course,  the  distinction  between 
•  body  •  and  '  soul '— i.  e.  technique  and  expression— does  belong  to 
iEsthetics). 


ll 


\\\ 


A 


f^ 


,#. «. 


^  ; 


.i 


1(1 


§6.] 


THE   SCOPE    OF   ETHICS. 


cannot  be  distinguished   from   the    inner   activity  by 
which  it  is  brought  about. ' 

§    6.       Is    THERE    ANY    SciENCE    OF    CoNDUCT  .? The    fact 

that  it  is  somewhat  questionable  to  speak  of  an  Art  of 
Conduct  suggests   a    doubt  whether   it  is  even  quite 
proper  to  speak  of  a  Science  of  Conduct.     We  generally 
understand  by  a  science  the  study  of  some   limited 
portion  of  our  experience.      Now  in  dealing  with  morals 
we  are  concerned  rather  with  the   whole  of  our  ex- 
perience from  one  particular  point  of  view,  viz.,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  activity—/,  e.   from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  pursuit  of  ends  or  ideals.     Matthew  Arnold 
has  said  that  'Conduct  is  three-fourths  of  life  ;"  but 
of  course,  from  the  point  of  view  of  purposive  activity, 
conduct    is  the  who/e   of  life.     It  is   common  to  dis- 
tinguish the  pursuit  of  truth  (science)  and  the  pursuit 
of  beauty  (fine  art)  from  the  moral  life  in  the  narrower 
sense;  but   when   truth  and  beauty  are   regarded    as 
ends  to  be  attained,  the  pursuit  of  them  is  a  kind  of 
conduct  ;  and  the  consideration  of  these  ends,  as  of 
all   others,    falls   within    the   scope  of  the  science  of 
morals.      In  a  sense,  therefore.  Ethics  is  not  a  science 
at  all,  if  by  a  science  we  understand  the  study  of  some 
limited  department  of  human  experience.     It  is  rather 
a  part  of  philosophy,  /.  e.  a  part  of  the  study  of  ex- 
perience   as  a  whole.      It  is,    indeed,    only  a  par/  of 
philosophy  ;  because  it  considers  the  experience  of  life 
only  from  the  point   of  view  of  will  or  activity.     It 
does  not,  except  indirectly,  consider  man  as  knowing 
or   enjoying,    but    as    doing,    i    e.    pursuing   an    end. 
But  it  considers  man's  whole  activity,  the  entire  nature 

1  This  point  is  more  fully  brought  out  in  Book  I.,  chap.  vL 

£th.  ^ 

2 


i8 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  I. 


of  the  good  which  he  seeks,  and  the  whole  significance 
of  his  activity  in  seeking  it.  For  this  reason  some 
writers  prefer  to  describe  the  subject  as  Moral  Philoso- 
phy or  Ethical  Philosophy,  rather  than  as  the  Science 
of  Ethics.  For  it  is  the  business  of  Philosophy,  rather 
than  of  Science,  to  deal  with  experience  as  a  whole. 
Similarly,  Logic  and  i^sthetics,  the  two  sciences  which 
most  closely  resemble  Ethics,  are  rather  philosophical 
than  scientific.  But  the  term  Science  may  be  used  in 
a  wide  sense  to  include  the  philosophical  studies  as 
well  as  those  that  are  called  scientific  in  the  narrower 
sense.  In  the  next  chapter  we  must  endeavour  to 
explain  more  definitely  the  place  of  Ethics  among  the 
other  departments  of  knowledge. 

§7.  Summary.— The  statements  in   this  chapter  are 
intended  to  give  a  general  indication  of  the  nature  of 
ethical   science.     The   student   ought   to   be  warned, 
however,   that  different  writers  regard  the  subject   in 
different  ways.     Some  regard  it  as  having  a  directly 
practical  aim,  while  others  endeavour  to  treat  it  as  a 
purely  theoretical  science,  in  the  same  sense  in  which 
chemistry  or  astronomy  is  purely  theoretical.     I  have 
adopted  a  middle  course,  by  describing  it  as  normative. 
But  the  full  significance  of  this  difference,  as  well  as 
the  grounds  for  adopting  one  or  other  of  these  views, 
can  hardly  become  apparent  to  the  student  until  he  has 
learned  to  appreciate  the  distinction  between  the  lead- 
ing theories  of  the  moral  standard.     In  fact,  in  studying 
Ethics,  as  in  studying  most  other  subjects  of  any  com- 
plexity, it  should  always  be  borne  'n  mind  that  the  defi- 
nition of  the  subject  and  the  undt  standing  of  its  scope 
and  method  come  rather  at  the  e   d  than  at  the  begin- 
ning.    With  these  cautions,  howe  er,  the  student  may 


§;.] 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


19 


perhaps  find  the  remarks  made  in  this  chapter  of  some 

service  as  an  introduction  to  the  study. 

The  main  points  may  be  summed  up  in  this  way  : — 
(i)  Ethics  is  the  science  which  deals  with  the  Ideal, 

or  with  the  Standard  of  Rightness  and  Wrongness,  Good 

and  Evil,  involved  in  Conduct. 

(2)  This  science  is  norniative,  not  one  of  the  ordinary 
Positive  Sciences.  ' 

(3)  It  is,  however,  not  properly  to  be  described  as  a 
Practical  Science,  though  it  has  a  close  bearing  upon 
practical  life. 

(4)  Still  less  is  it  to  be  described  as  an  Art. 

(5)  It  is  hardly  correct  to  speak  of  an  Art  of  Conduct 
at  all. 

(6)  Some  objection  may  also  be  taken  even  to  the 
term  Science  of  Conduct,  since  the  study  of  the  Ideal 
in  Conduct  is  rather  philosophical  than  scientific. 


L^ 


20 


ETHICS. 


[INTROD.,  CH.  I, 


THE   SCOPE   OF   ETHICS. 


21 


Note  on  Positive  and  Normative  Sciences. 

It  may  be  well  to  warn  the  student,  more  fully  than  could  well  be 
done  in  the  text,  that  the  convenient  distinction,  here  adopted,  be- 
tween positive  and  normative  sciences,  is  not  to  be  taken  as  an  ab- 
solute one  ;  still  less,  as  exhaustive.    On  reflection,  the  student  will 
no  doubt  find  that  many  sciences  which  are  essentially  positive  have 
in  them  elements  that  are  of  a  normative  character.     In  illustration 
of  this,  we  might  refer  to  the  saying  of  the  astronomer,  who  was 
questioned  about  the  way  in  which  the  planets  move :   "  I  know 
nothing  about  the  way  in  which  the  planets  move  ;  I  only  know 
how  the  planets  ought  to  move— if  there  are  any  planets  !  "    This  is, 
of  course,  a  paradox  ;  but  it  may  serve  to  bring  out  the  truth  that 
much  of  what  is  contained  even  in  the  positive  sciences  depends 
on  the  consideration  of  ideal  standards.    Again,  the  student  who 
pursues  the  study  of  metaphysics  will  soon  find  that  there  is  a 
sense  m  which  even  such  principles  as  the  law  of  causation  may  be 
said,  as  Kant  put  it,  to  be  prescribed  to  nature.     Further,  there  is  a 
sense  in  which  even  purely  normative  sciences  may  be  said  to  deal 
With  what  IS.    Logic  is  said  to  be  concerned  with  correct  thinking  • 
but  there  is  a  very  true  sense  in  which  it  may  be  held  that  incorre^'ct 
thinkmg  is  not  thought ;  so  that,  from  this  point  of  view.  Logic  may 
be  said  to  be  concerned  with  the  principles  of  thought  as  thought 
Similarly,  it  might  perhaps  be  urged  that  an  object  which  is  not  ap- 
preciated as  beautiful  is  not  really  appreciated  ;  and  that  an  action 
which  is  not  good  is  not,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word,  an  action 
Hence,  the  distinction   between  positive  and  normative  sciences  is 
one  that  may  require,  to  a  large  extent,  to  be  thrown  aside  as  the 
student  advances.     It  is  one  of  those  convenient  distinctions  (like 
that  between  sense  and  thought,  knowing  and  willing,  matter  and 
spirit,  etc.)  which  require  to  be  drawn  at  the  outset,  but  which  may 
be  gradually  superseded.     It  remains  true,  however,  that  the  ordi- 
nary concrete  sciences,  like  botany  or  physiology,i  make  it  their  main 
aim  to  co-ordinate  particular  facts  of  experience,  while  logic  and 
ethics  deal  essentially  with  standards  of  judgment.     It  would  ob 
viously  be  far  beyond  the  scope  of  such  a  work  as  this  to  attempt  any 

Un  the  case  of  physiology,  this  statement  is  open  to  some  qualifi- 
cation,  in  so  far  as  physiology  m^kes  it  its  business  to  study  the 
normal  action  of  vital  functions. 


j 


I 


exhaustive  classification  of  the  sciences  ;  but  perhaps  the  following 
list  may  serve,  roughly,  to  indicate  the  relations  in  which  they 
stand  to  one  another. 

(1)  The  ordinary  concrete  sciences,  e.g.  botany,  biology,  anatomy, 
geology,  &c.  Of  these  it  is  on  the  whole  true  to  say  that  they  deal 
with  particular  classes  of  facts,  and  try  to  co-ordinate  them. 

(2)  The  ordinary  abstract  sciences,  such  as  mathematics,  mechan- 
ics, the  more  theoretical  parts  of  astronomy,  &c.  These  sciences  also 
aim  at  the  elucidation  of  facts  ;  but,  in  order  to  elucidate  them,  they 
make  use  of  hypothetical  constructions,  often  involving  a  reference 
to  ideal  standards— as,  in  mathematics,  the  standard  of  a  perfectly 
straight  line,  and  the  like.i 

(3)  The  normative  sciences,  such  as  logic,  aesthetics,  ethics,  which 
deal  definitely  rather  with  standards  of  judgment  than  with  parti- 
cular facts. 

(4)  The  practical  sciences,  such  as  medicine,  architecture,  rhetoric, 
&c.,  which  apply  standards  of  judgment  to  the  formulation  of  prin- 
ciples of  action.  All  normative  sciences  are  capable  of  being  made 
practical  wlien  they  are  thus  applied. 

Arts,  properly  so  called,  seek  to  carry  out  certain  forms  of  activity 
for  the  production  of  certain  results.  They  depend  on  the  principles 
laid  down  by  the  practical  sciences,  but  generally  depend  on  more 
than  one  of  them. 

It  should  also  be  carefully  borne  in  mind  that  often  what  is  com- 
monly regarded  as  a  single  science  may  include  elements  which,  if 
taken  by  themselves,  would  refer  it  alternately  to  several,  or  perhaps 
all,  of  the  above  classes.  Thus  Political  Economy  is  a  positive 
science  in  so  far  as  it  deals  with  the  facts  of  commercial  life,  and 
seeks  to  co-ordinate  them— in  so  far,  that  is  to  say,  as  it  is  dealt  with 
historically  and  concretely.  It  is,  however,  an  abstract  science,  in 
so  far  as  it  deals  with  hypothetical  conditions,  such  as  that  of  perfectly 
free  competition,  and  seeks  to  show  what  would  follow  from  these  con- 
ditions.   It  is  a  normative  science,  in  so  far  as  it  seeks  to  establish  an 

1  It  may  perhaps  be  of  some  assistance  to  the  student  to  point  out 
that  the  names  of  the  more  purely  positive  sciences  generally  end 
in  "logy"— geology,  biology,  anthropology,  psychology,  sociology, 
&c.  ;  while  those  of  the  more  abstract  and  normative  (/.  e.  those 
that  are,  in  some  sense,  concerned  with  standards  or  ideals)  generally 
end  in  "ic"  or  "  ics  "—mathematics,  mechanics,  logic,  aesthetics, 
ethics,  &c.  But  this  is  only  roughly  true.  Cf.  Giddings's  Principles 
of  Sociology,  p.  50. 


22 


KTHICS. 


[INTROD.,  CH.  1. 


ideal  standard,  such  as  that  of  industrial  freedom,  to  which  the  facts 
of  the  commercial  life  ouj^^ht  to  conform.  It  is  a  practical  science 
when  it  uses  this  standard  to  guide  the  statesman,  the  man  of  busi- 
ness, the  workman,  or  the  social  reformer.  When,  finally,  these 
various  people  make  use  of  it,  under  the  guidance  of  common  sense, 
it  becomes  an  art ;  and  the  carrying  of  it  into  effect  in  this  way  in- 
volves various  other  forms  of  knowledge,  as  well  as  the  knowledge 
of  the  particular  science  in  question.^ 

It  thus  appears  that  sciences  cannot  be  quite  so  simply  arranged  as 
the  student  might  perhaps  be  led  to  suppose  from  the  statements  in 
the  text.  The  broad  distinction,  however,  between  the  positive  and 
the  normative— between  that  in  which  the  ultimate  reference  is  to  a 
particular  class  of  facts,  and  that  in  which  the  ultimate  reference  is 
to  an  ideal  standard,  is  all  that  is  of  special  importance  for  our  pres- 
ent purpose.  If  the  student  will  bear  in  mind  the  two  sciences  with 
which,  from  his  previous  study,  he  is  probably  most  likely  to  be 
familiar.  Psychology  and  Logic,  he  will  find  in  them  two  very  per- 
fect types  of  the  distinction  in  question.  Psychology  deals  with  the 
facts  of  consciousness  ;  Logic  deals  with  the  standard  of  correctness. 

1  Cf.  Keynes's  Scope  and  Method  of  Political  Economy,  pp.  34-36. 


\ 


X 


§1.] 


RELATION   TO    OTHER   SCIENCES. 


23 


CHAPTER   II. 
THE    RFXATION    OF    ETHICS    TO    OTHER    SCIENCES. 

§1.  General  Statement. — From  what  has  already 
been  stated,  it  appears  that  Ethics  is  to  be  regarded  as 
belonging  to  the  group  of  sciences  that  are  called 
philosophic.  Now  the  question  as  to  the  general 
nature  and  divisions  of  philosophic  study  is  to  some 
extent  controversial ;  and  of  course  it  is  beyond  our 
present  scope  to  enter  on  any  discussion  of  this 
question  ;  but  perhaps  the  student  may  find  the  follow- 
ing statements  helpful  and  not  very  misleading.  He 
may  correct  them  for  himself,  if  necessary,  as  he  ad- 
vances in  the  study  of  philosophy. 

Philosophy  is  the  study  of  the  nature  of  experience  as 
a  whole.  The  particular  sciences  investigate  particular 
portions  of  the  content  of  our  experience ;  but  philo- 
sophy seeks  to  understand  the  whole  in  the  light  of  its 
central  principles.  In  order  to  do  this,  it  endeavours  to 
analyze  the  various  elements  that  enter  into  the  con- 
stitution of  the  world  as  we  know  it.  This  part  of  the 
investigation  is  perhaps  that  which  is  most  properly 
described  as  Epistemology.  Next  we  may  go  on  to 
trace  the  genesis  of  the  various  elements  that  constitute 
our  experience — to  examine,  that  is  to  say,  the  process 
by  which  experience  grows  up  in  the  consciousness  of 
individuals  and  races.  This  is  the  task  of  Psychology. 
Now,  wheii  we  thus  examine  our  experience  and  trace 


I 


24 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  II. 


its  growth,  it  is  found  that  the  content  which  is  thus 
brought  to  light  consists  partly  of  facts  presented  in 
various  ways  before  our  consciousness  and  partly  of 
ideals.  The  study  of  the  particular  facts  that  come 
before  our  consciousness  has  to  be  handed  over  to  the 
particular  sciences  ;  or,  in  so  far  as  philosophy  is  able  to 
deal  with  them,  they  form  the  content  of  what  is  called 
the  Philosophy  of  Nature.  The  ideals,  again,  which 
emerge  in  our  experience,  are  found  to  be  three  in 
numl)er,  corresponding,  it  would  seem,  to  the  Know- 
ing, the  Feeling,  and  the  Willing  sides  of  our  conscious 
nature.  They  are  the  ideals  of  Truth,  Beauty,  and 
Goodness.  The  study  of  these  ideals  forms  the  subject- 
matter  of  the  three  sciences  of  Logic,  Esthetics,  and 
Ethics.  Finally  the  question  arises  with  respect  to  the 
kind  and  degree  of  reality  possessed  by  these  various 
elements  in  our  experience.  This  inquiry  is  that  which 
is  properly  known  as  Ontology.  The  first  and  the  last 
of  these  departments  of  study — Epistemology  and  Onto- 
logy— tend  to  coalesce  ;  and  the  two  together  con- 
stitute what  is  commonly  known  as  Metaphysics,  which 
thus  forms  the  Alpha  and  the  Omega  of  the  philoso- 
phical sciences. 

From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Ethics  stands,  along 
with  Logic  and  Esthetics,  midway  between  Psycho- 
logy and  Metaphysics  ;  and,  in  fact,  whatever  may  be 
thought  of  the  foregoing  method  of  stating  the  relation- 
ship, it  is  generally  recognized  that  there  is  a  very  close 
connection  between  Ethics  and  each  of  these  two  other 
philosophical  sciences. 

Further  consideration,  how^ever,  reveals  a  variety  of 
other  subjects  to  which  Ethics  is  closely  related.  On 
some  it  is  dependent  for  materials,  to  others  it  supplies 


§2.] 


RELATION   TO   OTHER   SCIENCES. 


25 


I* 


assistance.  It  may  be  well  to  try  to  bring  out  a  little 
more  in  detail  some  of  these  relationships,  though  of 
course  it  is  only  possible  to  indicate  them  here  very 
briefly. 

§2.  Physical  Science  and  Ethics.— The  relation  of 
Physical  Science  to  Ethics  is  but  slight.  It  has  some- 
times been  supposed  that  the  question  of  physical 
causation  has  an  important  bearing  on  Ethics.  It  has 
been  thought  that  morality  postulates  the  freedom  of 
the  will,  and  that  there  is  a  certain  conflict  between 
this  postulate  and  the  theory  of  the  universal  applica- 
bility of  the  law  of  cause  and  effect.  This  point  will 
be  referred  to  in  a  subsequent  chapter.  In  the  mean- 
time it  must  suffice  to  say  that  the  supposition  of  such 
a  conflict  appears  to  rest  upon  a  misconception. 

Of  course.   Ethics  is  indirectly  related  to  Physical 
Science,  inasmuch  as  a  knowledge  of  physical  laws 
enables  us  to  predict,  more  accurately  and  certainly 
than  we  should  otherwise  be  able  to  do,  what  the  effect 
of  various  kinds  of  conduct  will  be.      But  this  knowl- 
edge affects  only  the  details  of  conduct,  not  the  general 
principles  by  which   our  conduct  is  guided.     A  wise 
man  in  modern  times  will  be  less  afraid  of  the  sea  and 
of  the  stars,  and  more  afraid  of  foul  air  and  impure 
water,  than  a  man  of  similar  wisdom  in  ancient  times  ; 
but  the  general  consideration  of  the  question,   what 
kinds  of  things  we  ought  to  fear,  and  what  kinds  we 
ought  not  to  fear,  need  not  be  affected  by  this  differ- 
ence in  detail,  which  is  due  to  the  advance  of  know- 
ledge.    Physical  Science  in  short  is  chiefly  useful  to 
Ethics   in   the    way  of  helping  us  to  understand  the 
environment   within  which    the   moral    life   is  passed, 
rather  than  the  nature  of  the  moral  life  itself. 


I 


26 


ETHICS. 


[INTROD.,  CH.  II. 


&  3.  Biology  and  Ethics. -The  relation  of  Biology  to 
Ethics  is  much  closer  than  that  of  Physics  or  Chemistry, 
but  is  essentially  of  the  same  indirect  character.  Many 
of  the  most  sacred  of  human  obligations  rest  on  physi- 
ological considerations  ;  but  the  general  principles  on 
whfch  these  obligations  rest  can  be  discussed  without 
any  direct  reference  to  physiological  details,  and  would 
not,  in  their  general  principles,  be  affected  by  any  new 
physiological  discoveries. 

Some  recent  writers,  under  the  influence  of  the  theory 
of  evolution,'    have    represented    the    connection    of 
Biology  with  Ethics   as  being  of  a  much  more  fund- 
amental character  than  that  which  has  now  been  in- 
dicated.   It  has  been  thought  that  the  criterion  of  good 
or  bad  conduct  is  to  be  found  in  the  tendency  to  pro- 
mote the  development  of  life  or  the  reverse  ;  and  that, 
consequently,  we  may  speak  of  good  or  bad  conduct 
in  the  lowest  forms  of  life  in  quite  the  same  sense  as 
in  man.     This  is  a  view  to  which  some  reference  will 
have  to  be  made  at  a  later  stage.      In  the  meantime  it 
seems  sufficient  to  say  that  conduct,  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  term  is  used  in  Ethics,  has  no  meaning  ex- 
cept with  reference  to  a  being  who  has  a  rational  will ; 
and  that,  in  the  case  of  such  a  being,  ihe  development 
of  life  is  but  a  subordinate  part  of  the  end.     Conse- 
quently, Biology  does  not  appear  to  have  any  direct 
bearing  upon  Ethics.^     The  study  of  animal  life,  how- 
ever, does  throw  a  good  deal  of  light  on  the  develop- 
ment of  the  moral  consciousness  ;  but  it  does  this  only 

1  See  especially  Spencer's  Principles  of  Ethics. 

2  It  is  only  in  so  far  as  we  attribute  some  form  of  self-conscious- 
ness  to  the  lower  animals  that  we  are  entitled  to  speak  of  "  sub- 
human ••  Ethics.  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elewcnts  oj  Ethics,  \x  212.  note,  and 
see  below,  Book  I.,  chap,  iii.,  §  3- 


ti 


#'^ 


§4.] 


RELATION   TO   OTHER   SCIENCES. 


27 


in  so  far  as  animal  life  is  studied  from  the  psychological, 
not  from  the  purely  biological,  point  of  view. 

§  4.  Psychology  and  Ethics. — The  relation  of  Psy- 
chology to  Ethics  is  much  closer  and  more  important. 
At  the  same  time,  the  dependence  of  the  one  upon  the 
other  ought  not  to  be  exaggerated.  As  Logic  deals 
with  the  correctness  of  thought,  so  Ethics  deals  with 
the  correctness  of  conduct.  Neither  of  them  is  directly 
concerned  with  the  process  by  which  we  come  to  think 
or  to  act  correctly.  Still,  the  processes  of  feeling,  de- 
siring, and  willing  cannot  be  ignored  by  the  student 
of  Ethics  ;  any  more  than  the  processes  of  general- 
izing, judging,  and  reasoning  can  be  ignored  by  the 
student  of  Logic  ;  and  the  consideration  of  all  these 
falls  within  the  province  of  the  psychologist.  Psycho- 
logy, in  fact,  as  I  have  already  tried  to  indicate,  leads 
up  to  ethics,  as  it  leads  up  to  Logic  and  i^sthetics. 

In  this  connection,  however,  there  is  another  im- 
portant point  to  be  noticed,  to  which  reference  has  not 
yet  been  made.  Human  conduct,  as  we  shall  find 
more  and  more,  has  a  social  reference.  Most  of  our 
actions  derive  their  moral  significance  very  largely  from 
our  relations  to  our  fellow-men.  Now  Psychology,  as 
commonly  studied,  has  but  little  bearing  on  this.  Psy- 
chology, as  a  rule,  deals  mainly  with  the  growth  of  the 
individual  consciousness,  and  only  refers  indirectly  to 
the  facts  of  social  relationship.  It  is  possible,  how- 
ever, to  study  the  process  of  mental  development  from 
a  more  social  point  of  view.  The  study  of  language, 
for  instance,  the  study  of  the  customs  of  savage  peoples, 
the  study  of  the  growth  of  institutions,  etc.,  throw 
light  upon  the  gradual  development  of  the  human 
mind  in  relation   to  its  social  environment.      The  term 


28 


ETHICS. 


[lNTROD.,CH.  11. 


I 


§50 


RELATION   OF   OTHER    SCIENCES. 


29 


Sociology  has  been  used  to  denote,  in  a  comprehensive 
way,  the  study  of  such  social  phenomena  ;  and,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  Ethics,  this  study  of  the  facts  of 
mind  in  relation  to  society  has  a  more  direct  interest 
than  purely  individual  Psychology. 

§  6.  Logic,  ^^sthetics,  and  Ethics. — These  three 
sciences,  as  I  have  already  pointed  out.  are  essen- 
tially cognate.  They  are  all  normative,  not  positive  : 
they  are  concerned,  that  is  to  say,  not  with  the  inves- 
tigation of  facts  and  relations  between  facts,  but  with 
the  discussion  of  standards.  Logic  studies  the  standard 
of  Truth.  It  is  concerned  with  the  validity  of  various 
processes  of  thought,  i^sthetics  and  Ethics,  again,  may 
be  said  to  be  concerned  with  value  or  worth,  y^sthetics 
considers  the  standard  of  Beauty,  or  as  we  may  perhaps 
say,  worth  for  feeling.  Ethics  considers  the  standard 
of  goodness,  /'.  e.  value  or  worth  from  the  point  of 
view  of  action — valour,  as  we  might  put  it.  Validity, 
J'alue,  Valour,  might  almost  be  said  to  be  the  subjects  of 
the  three  sciences  ;  but  this  of  course  is  something  of  a 
play  on  words.  At  any  rate  they  are  very  closely  re- 
lated to  one  other.  Ethics  might  almost  be  described 
as  the  Logic  of  conduct — /.  e.  it  considers  the  condi- 
tions of  the  consistency  of  conduct  with  the  ideal '  in- 

1  As  we  have  had  frequent  occasion  to  use  this  term  Ideal,  and 
shall  have  to  use  it  frequently  in  the  sequel,  it  may  be  well  to  enter 
a  caution  at  this  point  against  a  misconception  to  which  it  is  liable. 
An  Ideal  means  a  type,  model,  or  standard  ;  and  that  which  is  ideal 
is  that  which  is  normal,  that  which  conforms  to  its  type  or  standard. 
The  adjective  "  ideal,"  however,  corresponds  to  the  two  nouns 
"  Idea "  and  "  Ideal,"  and  there  is  a  certain  ambiguity  in  its  use.  As 
corresponding  to  "idea"  (in  the  sense  made  current  in  English  by 
Locke,  Berkeley  and  Hume)  it  is  apt  to  be  understood  as  referring  to 
that  which  is  merely  fancied,  as  distinguished  from  that  which 
exists  in  fact.     (The  more  correct  philosophical  use,  in  this  sense,  is 


volved  in  it,  just  as  Logic  considers  the  conditions  of 
the  consistency  of  thought  with  the  standards  that  it 
implies.  Again,  the  study  of  the  Good  is  also  closely 
related  to  the  study  of  the  Beautiful.  Indeed,  so  close 
is  the  connection  between  the  two  conceptions  that 
the  Greeks  used  the  same  word,  to  xaXov,  indifferently 
to  express  beauty  and  moral  nobility.  The  phrase 
"beauty  of  holiness  "  also  occurs  in  Hebrew  literature  ; 
and  in  modern  times  we  sometimes  meet  with  such 
expressions  as  "  beautiful  soul,"  "  a  beautiful  life,"  and 
the  like — though  these  expressions  generally  refer 
rather  to  religious  piety  than  to  purely  moral  excellence, 
and  even  in  that  reference  strike  us  perhaps  as  savour- 
seen  in  such  phrases  as  "  ideal  content,"  "  ideal  construction,"  "ideal 
synthesis,"  and  the  like.)  Thus,  when  Byron  speaks  of  "  ideal  woe" 
he  means  imaginary  woe,  woe  of  which  the  ground  is  purely  fanciful. 
And  indeed  this  meaning  clings  even  to  the  noun  "  Ideal,"  and  to 
"  ideal "  as  an  adjective  corresponding  to  that  noun.  An  artist's 
Ideal  is  apt  to  be  understood  as  meaning  a  type  of  beauty  which  is 
nowhere  to  be  found  existing.  The  ideal,  in  fact,  comes  to  be  un- 
derstood in  the  sense  of  a  poetic  vision, 

"  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land, 
The  consecration  and  the  poet's  dream." 

In  this  sense  also  an  Ideal  state,  like  Plato's  Republic,  is  contrasted 
with  actually  existing  conditions.  Now  this  use  of  the  word  is  apt 
to  be  very  misleading  in  Ethics.  In  order  to  avoid  such  confusion 
it  is  well  for  the  student  to  think  of  the  moral  Ideal,  not  in  relation 
to  Ideal  States  or  the  artist's  Ideal,  but  rather  in  relation  to  the 
logical  Ideal.  The  Ideal  of  correct  thinking  is  not  something  in  the 
air,  but  is  something  that  is  realized  every  time  we  think  at  all ;  for 
to  think  wrongly  is  to  a  certain  extent  not  to  think.  Similarly  the 
moral  ideal  may  be  said  to  be  realized  every  time  wc  truly  act.  It 
is  important  that  we  should  get  rid  of  the  habit  of  thinking  of  the 
Ideal  as  something  "  too  good  to  be  true,"  and  learn  to  think  of  it 
rather  as  the  determining  principle  in  reality.  (See  Hegel's  Logic^ 
Wallace's  Translation,  p.  11,)  The  point  of  this  may  become  more 
apparent  in  the  sequel. 


30 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  II, 


ing  a  little  of  cant.     1  have  already  indicated  that  the 
Greek  philosophers  got  into  some  trouble  through  their 
failure  to  distinguish  clearly    between  moral  conduct 
and  art ;  and  the  sharper  separation  in  modern  times 
between    the  two    conceptions    marks    an    advance  in 
scientific  clearness.      When   the  moral  life  is  regarded 
as  beautiful,  it  is  looked  at  from  a  somewhat  external 
point  of  view,  as  if  it  were  a  result   rather  than   an  act 
of  will  ;  audit  was  no  doubt  partly  because  the  Greeks 
had  not  fully  reached  the  inner  point  of  view  (for  which 
we  are  largely  indebted  to  Christianity)  that  they  were 
tempted  to  regard  the  moral  life  as  if  it  were  simply  an 
artistic  product.     When  we  regard  morality  as  involv- 
ing a  struggle  of  the  will,  it  can  scarcely  impress  us  as 
beautiful.      In  the  religious  sense  also,  when  we  speak 
of  the  beauty  of  holiness,  beautiful  souls,  and  beauti- 
ful lives,  we  are  generally  thinking  of  the  persons  re- 
ferred to  as  if  they  "flourished"  rather  than  lived,  as 
if  they  were  passive  products  rather  than  active  pro- 
ducers.    Still,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  contempla- 
tion  of  a   life  of  eminent   virtue  yields   us  a  certain 
aesthetic  satisfaction  ;  and  from  certain  points  of  view 
it    is  tempting,  even    for  a    modern    writer,  to    regard 
virtue  as  a  kind  of  beauty.     The   consideration  of  the 
relation  between  the  Good  and  the  Beautiful  is,   how- 
ever, too  difficult  a  subject  to  be  taken  up  at  this  point  ; 
and  we   must,  at  any  rate,  reserve  the  discussion  of  it 

for  the  present. 

§  Q  Metaphysics  and  Ethics.— The  consideration  of 
validity  and  value  leads  inevitably  to  the  problem  of 
reality.  In  the  case  of  thought  we  may  be  satisfied 
for  a  time  with  the  mere  consideration  of  its  formal 
self-consistency.     But  this  is  soon  found  to  be  unsatia- 


7.] 


RELATION   TO    OTHER   SCIENCES. 


31 


factory  ;  and  we  pass  on,  as  in  what  is  called  Inductive 
Logic,  to  the  question  of  the  conditions  of  the  consist- 
ency of  thought  with  the  facts  of  nature.  This  again 
leads  us  on  to  the  discussion  of  the  ultimate  nature  of 
reality.  Similarly,  in  dealing  with  the  Beautiful,  we 
may  at  first  be  content  to  regard  it  as  the  pleasant ;  but 
we  are  soon  led  to  inquire  how  far  the  pleasantness 
of  objects  is  illusory  and  how  far  it  rests  upon  their 
essential  nature.  Thus  in  both  these  cases  we  are  led 
on  into  metaphysical  inquiries.  So  it  is  in  the  case  of 
Ethics.  When  we  ask  what  constitutes  the  value  or 
active  worth  of  human  life  we  are  soon  led  into  the 
question  of  the  essential  nature  of  human  personality 
and  its  place  in  the  universe  of  actual  existence.  It  is 
possible,  no  doubt,  to  proceed  a  certain  length  in  Logic, 
^Esthetics,  and  Ethics  without  insisting  upon  an  answer 
to  the  ultimate  problems  of  ontology  ;  but  they  all  lead 
us  on  inevitably  into  these  problems. 

§  7.  Ethics  and  Political  Philosophy. — So  far  we 
have  been  referring  to  the  sciences  upon  which  Ethics 
may  be  said  to  rest.  We  have  now  to  notice  depart- 
ments of  study  which  rest  upon  Ethics.  These  may 
all  be  brought  under  the  general  heading  of  political  or 
social  Philosophy.  As  I  have  already  remarked,  the 
study  of  conduct  leads  us  inevitably  into  the  study 
of  social  life.  An  entirely  solitary  human  being  is  in- 
cohceivable.  A  man  is  always  a  member  of  some 
kind  of  community.  As  Aristotle  said,  he  is  a  poli- 
tical animal  {noXiTtxdv  C^ov).  Hence  the  science  of 
Ethics  is  very  closely  related  to  that  of  Politics.  We 
cannot  well  consider  the  virtues  of  the  individual  with- 
out considering  als  »  the  society  to  \vhich  he  is  related, 
and  the  ways  in  which  it  may  help  or  hinder  the  devel- 


Vl 


32 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  II. 


9.] 


RELATION   TO    OTHER   SCIENCES. 


33 


opment  of  his  life.  The  ideal  also  which  we  lay  down 
for  the  individual  will  necessarily  suggest  an  ideal 
arrangement  of  society,  which  will  be  best  fitted  to 
enable  the  individual  to  reahze  his  highest  aims.  For 
this  reason,  Aristotle  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
Ethics  is  essentially  a  part  of  Politics.  If  we  accept 
this  statement,  however,  we  must  employ  the  term 
Politics  in  a  very  wide  sense.  In  this  wide  sense  it  is 
perhaps  better  to  use  the  term  Social  Philosophy.  But 
even  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the  term,  it  is  evident 
that  the  relation  of  Ethics  to  Politics  must  be  a  very 

intimate  one. ' 

§  8.  Ethics  and  Economics. — Among  the  departments 
of  Political  Philosophy  to  which  Ethics  is  thus  closely 
related  there  is  one  to  which  great  importance  has  been 
attached  in  recent  times— the  science  of  Political  Econ- 
omy.    Economics,  like  Ethics,  is  concerned  with  goods, 
t.  e.  with  things  having  value  with  reference  to  certain 
human  ends.      But  while  the  goods  with  which  Ethics 
deals  are  those  acts  which  are  the  conditions  of  the 
attainment  of  the  highest  end  of  life,  economic  goods 
are  merely  those  objects  which  are  the  means    of  sat- 
isfying  any  human  want.     It   follows  that  if  we  are 
really  to  understand  the  worth  of  economic  goods,  we 
must  consider  them  in    close   relation  to   the   ethical 
good.      Food,  for  instance,  clothing,  house  room,  and 
the  like,  are  economic  goods  ;  and  they  serve  a  variety 
of  purposes— the  support  of  life,   the  development  of 
life,  the  prolongation  of  life,  the  promotion  of  enjoy- 
ment, the  attainment  of  independence,  the  furtherance 
of  peace,  decency,  and  security,  and  so  on.     And  the 

1  C).   Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  40  sqq.,  and  see  below, 
Book  III.,  chaps,  i.  and  ii. 


worth  of  the  goods  will  depend  on  the  importance  of 
these  ends.  Now  the  importance  of  these  ends  can 
be  ascertained  only  by  observing  their  relation  to  the 
supreme  end  of  our  lives.  Hence  a  certain  knowledge 
of  Ethics  is  presupposed  in  the  intelligent  study  of 
Economics.  This  truth  has  frequently  been  overlooked. 
The  study  of  Economics  has  too  often  been  conducted 
in  such  a  way  as  to  suggest  that  Wealth  is  an  end  in 
itself;  and  this  has  had  the  practical  result  of  retarding 
social  reforms,  and  encouraging  those  who  are  already 
too  much  prepared  to  pursue  riches  at  any  price.  For 
this  reason  some  of  the  leading  writers  on  Political 
Economy  have  been  severely  criticised  by  Carlyle  and 
Ruskin  and  other  moralists  ;  and  it  is  now  generally 
recognized  that  the  two  sciences  of  Ethics  and  Econo- 
mics must  be  brought  into  closer  relationship  to  one 
another,  at  least  if  Economics  is  to  be  treated  as,  in 
any  degree,  normative  and  practical. ' 

§  9.  Ethics  and  Pedagogics. — Ethics  ought  also  to 
throw  an  important  light  on  the  science  of  Education. 
The  reader  has  probably  already  discovered,  from  his 
previous  course  of  philosophic  study,  that  the  science 
of  psychology  has  a  good  deal  to  say  that  bears  on 
Education.  Psychology,  however,  is  chiefly  con- 
cerned with  the  various  capacities  of  the  human  mind 
and  the  method  of  their  development.  The  light 
which  it  throws  on  mental  Educatior  is  similar  to  that 
which  is  thrown  by  physiology  on  physical  Education. 
The  question  as  to  what  qualities  it  is  most  desirable 

1  On  this  subject,  cf.  Keynes's  Scope  and  Method  of  Political  Econ- 
omy, chap.  ii.  For  a  more  extreme  view,  see  Devas's  Political 
Economy,  Book  IV.,  chap.  v.  Cf.  International  Journal  of  Ethics, 
Vol.  III.,  no.  3,  and  Vol.  VII.,  no.  2. 

Eth.  1 


\ 


34  ETHICS.  [lNTROD.,CH.  II. 

to  evoke  and  strengthen  must  obviously  depend  on 
our  view  of  the  qualities  which  the  good  citizen  ought 
to  possess,  and  generally  on  our  view  of  the  nature  of 
the  ethical  end. ' 

§  10.  Concluding     Remark.— These     notes    on    the 
relationship    between    Ethics    and    other  sciences    are 
necessarily  somewhat  fragmentary,    and  perhaps  the 
student  may  not   find  them  very  enlightening,  especi- 
ally at  the  beginning  of  his  course.     They  may  serve, 
however,  to  indicate  the  wider  bearings  of  the  science' 
and   to  prepare  the  way  for  the  consideration  of  the 
divisions    into    which  the  study   of  it  naturally  falls. 
Possibly  also    if    the    student    will   return   upon   this 
chapter,  after  having  gone   through   the   body   of  the 
treatise,  he  may  then  be  better  able  to  appreciate  the 
points  to  which  reference  has  here  been  made. 

1  Mrs.  Bryant  has  written  a  valuable  book  on  Educational  Ends 
which  brings  out  with  considerable  fulness  the  bearing  of  ethical 
considerations  on  the  subject  of  Education.  Similarly,  Milton's 
Tractate  on  Education  is  written  throughout  with  reference  to  an 
ethical  ideal.  Cf.  also  Bacons  De  Augmentis,  Book  VII.  and  many 
other  works  of  a  similar  character.  The  recent  book  by  Professor 
MacCunn  on  T/ie  Making  of  Character  is  now  probably  the  best  work 
we  have  in  English  on  the  ethical  aspects  of  Education. 


§!•] 


THE   DIVISIONS   OF   THE   SUBJECT. 


35 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    DIVISIONS   OF   THE    SUBJECT. 

§  1.  General  Remarks. — If  we  adhered  quite  rigidly 
to  the  view  of  Ethics  put  forward  in  the  first  chapter, 
it  would  hardly  be  necessary  to  introduce  any  divisions 
in  the  treatment  of  it.  It  would  all  be  concerned  with 
the  definition  of  the  moral  ideal,  the  analysis  of  what 
is  involved  in  it,  and  the  consideration  of  its  validity  ; 
and  this  would  practically  be  but  a  single  inquiry. 
But  it  is  hardly  possible  to  limit  the  subject  in  this 
rigid  way.  There  are  a  numbe/  of  considerations 
which,  on  a  strict  view,  might  be  held  not  properly 
to  belong  to  Ethics,  but  which  are  so  essential  to  the 
understanding  of  it  that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  omit 
them  from  any  book  dealing  comprehensively  with  the 
subject.  The  nature  of  these  outlying  considerations 
has  been  partly  indicated  in  the  foregoing  chapter ; 
but  we  have  now  to  notice  more  precisely  the  way  in 
which  they  tend  to  break  up  the  study  of  Ethics  into 
different  departments. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  necessary  to  give  some  atten- 
tion to  the  psychological  aspects  of  the  subject.  The 
consideration  of  the  nature  of  Feeling,  Desire,  Will,  of 
the  meaning  and  place  of  Motives  and  Intentions  in 
the  individual  consciousness,  of  the  origin  and  nature 
of  conscience,  of  the  elements  contained  in  the  moral 


36 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  III. 


§3.] 


THE   DIVISIONS   OF   THE   SUBJECT. 


37 


judgment,  and  other  problems  of  a  similar  character, 
is  an  almost  indispensable  preliminary  to  the  study  of 
the  moral  ideal.     Again,  the  treatment  of  these  psycho- 
logical questions  naturally  leads   us   on    to  the   more 
sociological  aspects  of  the  subject,  /.  e.  to  the  study  of 
the  way  in  which   the  moral  consciousness  grows   up 
in  mankind  in  relation  to  the  general  development  of 
civilization  in  its  various  aspects.      These  genetical  in- 
quiries lead  us  on  to  the  consideration  of  the  nature 
and  significance  of  the  moral  ideal.      But  even  the  treat- 
ment of  this  is  necessarily  to  some  extent  historical. 
It  is  hardly  possible,  at  the  present  stage  of  the  develop- 
ment of  ethical  study,  to  lay  down  the  one   view  that 
is  to  be  accepted  as  correct,  without  reference  to  the 
various  more  or  less  incorrect  opinions  that  have  been 
current  in  the  course  of  ethical  speculation.      Having 
considered   these    and   formed    our    view    as    to   the 
general  nature  of  the  doctrine  that  is  to  be  taken  as 
true,  we  are  then  able,  finally,  to  consider  the  applica- 
tion of  this  doctrine  to  the  treatment  of  the  concrete 
facts  of  the  moral  life.      In  this  way  there  are  at  least 
four  main   divisions   of  the  study  :—(i)  The  Psycho- 
logy of  the  Moral   Consciousness,  (2)  The  Sociology 
of    the   Moral    Life,    (3)  The   Theories   of  the   Moral 
Standard,  (4)  The  Application  of  the  Standard  to  the 
treatment  of  the  Moral  Life.      A  part  dealing  with  the 
Metaphysics  of  Ethics   might  also  be  added  ;  but  this 
could  hardly  be  separated  from  the  discussion   of  the 
Theories  of  the  Moral  Standard,  which,  as  we  shall  see, 
inevitably  leads  us  into  metaphysical  considerations. 

A  few  remarks  may  now  be  made  on  each  of  these 
divisions  of  the  subject. 

§  2.  The    Psychological   Aspects   of    Ethics. — Most 


i 


\ 


of  the  points  that  fall  under  this  head  are  discussed  in 
treatises  on  Psychology,  where  they  are  more  strictly 
in  place.  But  it  is  found  convenient  in  ethical  works 
to  recall  some  of  the  more  important  considerations  on 
the  subject  of  Desire  and  Will,  in  particular,  and  also 
to  deal  with  the  nature  of  conscience  and  the  moral 
judgment,  which  are  apt  to  be  passed  over  somewhat 
slightly  in  purely  psychological  discussions.  The 
bearing  of  such  questions  as  that  of  the  freedom  of  the 
Will  on  the  moral  judgment  has  also  to  be  considered; 
and,  though  this  is  partly  a  metaphysical  question,  yet 
it  is  on  the  whole  the  psychological  aspect  of  it  that 
more  directly  concerns  Ethics.  It  is,  however,  the 
more  social  aspects  of  Psychology  with  which  Ethics 
is  most  intimately  connected,  and  we  are  thus  led  to 
the  second  division  of  the  subject. 

§  3.  The  Sociological  Aspects  of  Ethics.— The  sci- 
ence of  Sociology  is  still  in  its  infancy,  and  it  is  perhaps 
premature  to  state  precisely  what  it  would  contain  ; 
but  we  may  say  of  it  generally  that  it  is  nothing  more 
than  an  extension  of  psychology  to  the  consideration 
of  the  more  social  aspects  of  life.  Such  a  considera- 
tion has  reference  to  much  that  has  very  little  bearing 
on  Ethics.  When  we  study  the  life  of  savage  peoples, 
the  primitive  facts  of  language,  the  early  religious 
ideas,  the  superstitious  practices,  the  beginnings  of 
law  and  government,  our  interest  is  directed  to  many 
points  that  do  not  much  concern  the  rightness  and 
wrongness  of  conduct.  All  these  things,  however, 
are  modes  of  conduct,  or  tend  to  affect  conduct  ; 
and  it  is  possible  to  study  them  from  this  point  of  view. 
Also  the  tendency  to  pass  judgment  upon  these  and 
other  forms  of  activity,  as  being  right  or  wrong,  good 


38 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CH.  III. 


or  evil,  beg^ins  at  a  very  early  stage  in  the  development 
of  the  human  race;  and  the  w^ay  in  which  this  judg- 
ment grows  up  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  points 
in  the  study  of  Sociology.  All  this  is  hardly  to  be 
described  as  Ethics  in  the  stricter  sense  ;  but  it  is  an 
almost  indispensable  preparation  for  the  study  of 
ethical  problems. 

§  4.  The  Theories  of  the  Moral  Standard. — The 
study  of  Ethics  in  the  stricter  sense  commences  with  the 
consideration  of  the  nature  of  the  Ideal,  Standard,  or 
End,  by  reference  to  which  Conduct  is  pronounced  to  be 
right  or  wrong,  good  or  evil.  Now  there  are  several 
different  theories  on  this  subject ;  and,  though  some 
of  these  theories  are  now  generally  admitted  to  have 
been  superseded,  yet  the  leading  types  of  theory  can- 
not well  be  neglected,  the  more  so  as  these  leading 
types  are  seldom  wholly  erroneous,  but  nearly  always 
bring  out  some  important  aspect  of  the  subject.  At 
the  same  time,  the  student  should  be  warned  against 
the  common  error  of  supposing  that  these  controver- 
sies about  the  definition  of  the  Standard,  often  rather 
futile  and  involving  a  good  deal  of  misunderstanding 
on  all  sides,  constitute  the  whole,  or  even  the  main 
part,  of  ethical  doctrine.  In  order  to  guard  against 
such  a  misconception,  it  is  important  to  pass  on  to  the 
consideration  of  the  way  in  which  ethical  principles 
may  be  used  in  the  treatment  of  the  concrete  moral 
life,  even  if  the  discussion  of  this  subject  is  inevitably 
of  a  very  summary  and  incomplete  character. 

§  5.  The  Concrete  Moral  Life.— It  will  be  found 
that  the  exact  way  in  which  the  concrete  moral  life  is 
to  be  handled  by  ethical  science  depends  to  a  consider- 
able extent  on  the  nature  of  the  theory  which  we  finally 


§  5.]  THE   DIVISIONS   OF   THE   SUBJECT.  39 

adopt.      If,  for  instance,  we  were  to  take  the  view  that 
the  moral  standard  consists  in    certain   absolute   and 
immutable  laws  which  are  intuitively  known  to  every 
developed   consciousness,   the  study    of  the  concrete 
moral   life  could   have    little    more    than    a  historical 
interest.      We  should  only  be  able  to  discover  that  at 
certain  periods  the  nature  of  the  moral  laws  has  been 
obscured,  for  various  reasons,  from  the  consciousness 
of  the  majority  of  the  human  race  ;  and  that  at  other 
times  the  laws,   though  fully  recognized,   have   been 
very  commonly  disobeyed.     These  facts  would  be  of 
sociological  and  psychological,  rather  than  of  strictly 
ethical  interest.     On   the  other  hand,  if  we  should  be 
led  to  take  the  view  that  the  moral  standard   consists 
in  a  certain  end— say,  happiness— which,  though  gen- 
erally pursued  by   mankind,    is  not  pursued  consist- 
ently or  wisely,  it  would  then  be  possible  to  point  out, 
at  least  in  general  terms,  the  ways  in  which  improve- 
ments could  be  introduced  into  the  concrete  moral  life 
of  mankind.      Rules  could  be  laid  down  for  the  more 
complete  and  consistent  adoption   of  the  right  means 
to  the  end  that  we  have  in   view.     Or,  again,  if  we 
accepted  the  view  that  the  Standard  is  of  the  nature  of 
an  Ideal  that  is  more  or  less  clearly  present  through- 
out the  development   of  the  human  consciousness,  it 
would   then  be  possible  for  us  to  trace  the  ways   in 
which  this  Ideal  comes  into  clearness,  to  point  out  how 
it  is  illustrated  in  the  concrete  growth  of  the  moral 
life,  and  to  indicate  to  some  extent  the  directions  in 
which    we  may   hope   to  see  it    more   fully    realized. 
According  to  the  first  of  these  views,  the  study  of  the 
concrete    moral    life    would  have  hardly    any    ethical 
interest.     According  to  the  second  view,  the  study  of 


40 


ETHICS.  [INTROD.,  CII.  III. 


Ethics  would  lead  directly  to  certain  practical  recom- 
mendations for  the  remodelling  of  the  concrete  moral 
life.  According  to  the  third  view,  it  would  be  the  main 
business  of  Ethics  to  bring  out  the  significance  of  the 
moral  life  in  its  concrete  development,  rather  than  to 
aim  at  its  reform.  Accordingly,  it  is  not  possible  to 
decide  on  the  precise  way  in  which  this  department  of 
the  subject  should  be  dealt  with,  until  we  have  con- 
sidered the  nature  of  the  moral  Standard.  This  portion 
of  the  treatment  of  Ethics  is  sometimes  called  Applied 
Ethics. 

§  6.  Plan  of  the  Present  Work. — A  complete  treatise 
on  the  Principles  of  Ethics  would  thus,  as  I  conceive, 
fall  naturally  into  four  distinct  parts — with,  possibly, 
a  fifth  devoted  to  the  development  of  the  more  meta- 
physical aspects  of  the  subject.  The  present  work, 
however,  is  only  intended  to  serve  the  purpose  of  an 
introductory  sketch  ;  and  the  divisions  which  are  here 
adopted  need  not  be  of  quite  so  elaborate  a  character. 
As  this  book  is  intended  primarily  to  be  read  by  students 
who  have  already  pursued  a  course  in  Psychology,  the 
psychological  aspects  of  the  subject  need  not  be  very 
fully  developed.  As  regards  the  sociological  aspects, 
again,  the  whole  science  of  sociology  is  in  so  unde- 
veloped a  condition  that  it  would  hardly  be  appropriate 
in  an  elementary  Text-book  to  make  any  confident 
assertions  about  it.  In  a  larger  work  various  points 
might  fittingly  be  discussed  which  in  such  a  book  as 
this  are  best  omitted.  Accordingly,  all  that  is  to  be 
said  about  these  two  departments  of  ethical  study  is 
here  compressed  under  the  general  heading  of  **  Pro- 
legomena, chiefly  Psychological. "  The  various  theories 
of  morals  must  be  dealt  with  somewhat   more  fully  ; 


. 


g  6.]  THE   DIVISIONS   OF  THE   SUBJECT.  4I 

but  here  also  we  must  content  ourselves  with  the  broad 
distinctions,  and  leave  the  more  minute  historical  details 
for  future  study.  In  dealing  wath  the  concrete  moral 
life,  we  cannot  attempt  to  do  much  more  than  indicate 
the  main  points  which  it  would  be  important  to  con- 
sider in  a  more  complete  treatise.  Finally,  the  meta- 
physical implications  of  ethical  theory  can  only  be 
referred  to  in  a  concluding  chapter. 


§1.] 


DESIRE   AND   WILL. 


43 


BOOK  I. 

PROLEGOMENA,  CHIEFLY  PSYCHOLOGICAL. 


CHAPTER  I. 


DESIRE    AND    WILL. 

§  1.  Introductory  Remark. — The  questions  that  con- 
cern us  in  this  chapter  are  essentially  psychological  ; 
and  most  of  the  points  on  which  we  have  to  touch 
will  be  found  treated,  with  more  or  less  fulness,  in  any 
psychological  handbook.  But  it  seems  necessary  here 
to  bring  out  their  ethical  significance.  What  chiefly 
concerns  us  is  the  nature  of  those  activities  which  are 
described  by  the  terms  Will,  and  Conduct,  and  the 
relation  of  these  to  that  general  condition  of  conscious 
life  which  is  described  as  Character.  But  in  order  to 
understand  these  it  is  necessary  also  to  say  something 
about  the  relationship  between  Desire  and  Will ;  and  it 
is  to  that  point  that  the  present  chapter  is  to  be  de- 
voted. 

§  2.  General  Nature  of  Desire.  — Before  we  consider 
the  way  in  which  our  desires  are  related  to  the  will,  it 
is  necessary  to  determine  precisely  what  we  are  to 
understand  by  the  term  desire.  We  must  not,  for  in- 
stance, confound  human  desires  with  the  mere  appetites 
of  an  animal ;  and  there  are  also  several  other  minor 


44 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  I. 


3.] 


DESIRE   AND   WILL. 


45 


distinctions  which  it  is  necessary  to  keep  in  view. 
We  may  say,  generally,  that  nothing  is  an  object  of 
desire  for  a  man  unless  it  is  consciously  regarded  as  a 
good  :  but  this  remark  is  perhaps  not  very  enlighten- 
ing ;  for  it  would  be  difficult  to  define  a  good  otherwise 
than  as  an  object  that  is  consciously  desired.'  The 
point  is,  however,  that  in  all  real  desire  there  is  some 
object  that  is  consciously  taken  as  an  end.  Such  an 
object  consciously  taken  as  an  end  in  desire  is  what 
we  call  a  good.  By  defining  in  this  way,  we  seem  to 
be  able  to  avoid  going  round  in  a  circle.  In  order  to 
understand  this  point,  however,  it  is  necessary  to  go 
more  into  the  details  of  the  distinction  between  desire 
and  other  modes  of  activity.  We  may  conveniently 
begin  with  those  forms  of  activity  that  are  lowest  in 
the  scale  of  life,  and  pass  upwards  from  these  to  the 
highest  forms  of  human  desire  and  will. 

§  3.  Want  and  Appetite. — We  may  begin  by  distin- 
guishing the  appetite  of  an  animal  from  the  mere  pres- 
ence of  an  animal  want.  An  animal  want  is  in  itself 
of  the  same  nature  as  a  vegetable  want.  It  is  a  blind 
tendency  towards  particular  ends,  w^hich  are  involved 
in  the  development  of  the  life  of  the  animal,  just  as 
they  might  be  also  in  the  life  of  a  plant.  We  may  say, 
if  we  like,  that  nature  wills  *  the  realization  of  these 
ends;  but  they  are  not  consciously  willed  by  the 
animal  or  plant  itself.  In  the  case  of  an  appetite,  on 
the  other  hand,  there  is  not  merely  a  blind  tendency 
towards  a  particular  end  ;  but    this   tendency  is  to  a 

IC/.  Aristotle's  Ethics,  I.  i.  1.  :  "The  good  is  that  at  which  all  things 

aim." 

2  This  conception  is  due  to  Aristotle.     It  is  of  course  partly  meta- 
phorical, but  suggests  a  teleological  view  of  the  world. 


certain    extent  present  to   consciousness.     This   con- 
sciousness may  appear  partly  in  the  form  of  a  definite 
presentation    of  the    kind  of  object   that   will  satisfy 
a  given  want.      The    hungry   lion    may  be    more  or 
less  clearly  aware  of  the  nature  of  the  object  that  it 
seeks.     The  plant,  on  the  other  hand,  when  it  turns  to 
the  sunlight,  may  be  said  to  have  a  want ;  but  it  can- 
not be  supposed  to  have  any  consciousness  of  the 
nature  of  the  object  that  will  satisfy  it.     Even  in  the 
case  of  an   animal  appetite,  however,  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  object  is  probably  in  most  instances  some- 
what dim  and  vague. '     The  most  prominent  element  in 
the  consciousness  is  rather  the  feeling  of  pleasure  or 
pain  than  any  definite  presentation  of  an  object.     An 
unsatisfied  appetite  is  in  itself  ^  painful ;  whereas  the 
satisfaction  of  any  appetite  brings  with  it  the  feeling 
of  pleasure.     These  feelings  form  so  characteristic  and 
prominent  an  element  in  animal  appetites  that  satis- 
factions of  appetite  are  frequently  referred  to  simply 
as   pleasures,    while   unsatisfied   appetites    are   called 
pains.     A  pleasure-seeker  is  generally  understood  to 
be  one  who  seeks  the  satisfaction  of  his  animal  ap- 
petites, or  of  human  impulses  which  are  akin  to  these 
appetites.     A  certain   confusion    is  thus  apt   to   arise 

1  Some  psychologists  (of  whom  I  gather  that  Mr.  Stout  is  one) 
would  deny  that  this  element  is  present  at  all. 

2  It  is  necessary  to  say  "  in  itself " ;  because  the  total  effect  of  a 
consciousness  of  unsatisfied  want  is  sometimes  rather  pleasurable 
than  painful.  Thus,  moderate  hunger  in  man,  and  perhaps  even  in 
animals,  seems  often  to  be  rather  agreeable  than  otherwise  The 
reason  is  probably  in  part  that  the  feeling  of  hunger  adds  a  pleasant 
stimulus  to  the  vital  energies  generally,  and  in  part  that  the  antici- 
pation of  satisfaction  is  easily  called  up  by  the  consciousness  of 
want.    See  Note  I.  at  the  end  of  chap.  ii. 


\ 


46 


ETHICS. 


[bk.  I.,  cn.  I. 


§5.] 


DESIRE   AND   WILL. 


47 


between  the  satisfaction  of  an  appetite  '*ncl  the  agree- 
able feeling  which  accompanies  it ;  since  both  are 
called  pleasure.  But  with  this  confusion  we  need  not 
at  present  trouble  ourselves.'  It  is  enough  now  to 
observe  that  pleasure  and  pain  are  the  most  prominent 
and  characteristic  features  of  animal  appetite.  =» 

§4.  Appetite  and    Desire. — In  the  case  of  what  is 
strictly  called  desire,  there  is  not  merely  the  conscious- 
ness   of  an  object,  with  an    accompanying  feeling  of 
pleasure  and  pain,  but  also  a  recognition  of  the  object 
as  a  good,  or  as  an  element  in  a  more  or  less  clearly 
defined  end.  3     The  hunger   of  an  animal   is  different 
from  the  mere  want  of  nutriment  in  a  plant ;  but  de- 
sire for  food  in  a  man  is  scarcely  less  different  from 
mere  hunger.     A  man  may  be  hungry  and  yet  not  de- 
sire food.     In  the  desire  of  food  there  is  involved,  in 
addition  to  the  hunger,  the  representation  of  the  food 
as  an  end  which  it  is  worth  while  to  secure.      We  may 
express  this   by  saying  that  desire  implies  a  definite 
pomtofview,  whereas  there  is  no  such  implication  in 
a  mere  appetite.      Hunger  is  to  all  intents  the  same 
phenomenon  in  the  brute  and  in  the  sage  ;  but  the  de- 
sires of  the  sage  and  the  hero  are  very  different  from 
those  of  the  savage,  the  miser,   or  the  epicure.     The 
desires  of  different  men   are   determined  by  the  total 
nature  of  the  point  of  view  which  the  men  occupy. 
What  they  desire  depends  on  what  they  like  ;  and  what 

1  See  belo'.v,  chap,  ii.,  §§  7  and  8. 

2  Appetite  is,  in  the  AristoteHan  psychology,  known  as  eiriflvMi«. 
Desire  is  opefi?.  But  Aristotle  uses  ope^9  in  a  wide  sense,  so  as  to  in- 
chide  cTTt^M^*-    ^c  Anima.  II..  iii.  2. 

8  For  a  full  discussion  of  this  point,  see  Green's  Prolegomena  to 
Ethics,  Book  II.,  chap.  ii.  Cf.  also  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp. 
51-2,  and  Dewey's  Psychology,  p.  360  sqq. 


they  like,  as  Mr.  Ruskin  is  so  fond  of  insisting,  is  an 
exact  expression  of  what  they  are.     Thus,  while  ordi- 
nary hunger  or  thirst  tells  us  nothing  about  the  char- 
acter of  him  who  feels  it,  the  hunger  and  thirst  after 
righteousness,  or  after  power,  or  after  fame,  is  a  reve- 
lation of  a  whole  point  of  view.  ■     The  desires  of  a  per- 
son   therefore,   are  not  an  isolated  phenomenon,  but 
form  an  element  in  the  totality,  or,  as  we  may  say,  the 
universe  of  his  character  ;  ^  and  it  is  from  this  point  of 
view  that  we  must  regard  them,  if  we  are  to  understand 

their  full  significance. 

g  5.  Universe  of  Desire. -What  is  meant  by  saying 
that  the  desires  of  a  human  being  form  part  of  a  "  uni- 
verse" may  be  made  somewhat  clearer  by  reference  to 
a  similar  conception  in  the  science  of  Logic     It  has 
become  a  familiar  thing  in  Logic  to  speak  of  a      uni- 
verse of  discourse,"  '  as  signifying  the  sphere  of  refer- 
ence within  which   a   particular   statement   is   made^ 
Thus  a  statement  about  "  the  gods  "  may  be  true  with 
reference  to  the  world  as  depicted  in   the   Homeric 
poems,  or  to  the  world  of  Greek  mythology  generally 
but  m;y  be  false  or  meaningless   if  understood  with 
reference  to  the  world  of  ordinary   fact       So  too  we 
may  make  statements  about  griffins  and  unicorns  in 
the  universe  of  heraldry,  about  fairies  in  the  universe  of 
romance,  about  Hamlet  or  Xing  Lear  i"  the  universe 
of  Shakespeare's  plays,  about  Heaven  and  Hell  and  Pur- 
gatory in  the  universe  of  Dante's  Dmne  Comedy  ;  and 
our  statements  may  be  true  within  these  several  uni- 

1  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elcmets  of  Ethics,  p.  52- 

2  Cf  Dewey's  Psychology,  PP-  363-4-  .    „      .  .    ,  ,  ^ ,.,  „ 
.  See  Keynes's  Formal  Logic,  pp.  I37^.  Venn's  tn.p.r,cal  Log.c.  p. 

l8o,  Wellons  Manual  of  Logic,  vol.  i.,  pp.  5*^ 


48 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  I. 


5.] 


DESIRE   AND   WILL. 


49 


verses   though  they  would  become  false  if  taken  out  of 
the  particular  universe  to  which   they  belong.      Now 
there  is  something  quite  analogous  in  the  case  of  our 
desires.     Each  desire  also  belongs  to  a  particular  uni- 
verse    and   loses  its  meaning  if  we  pass  out  of  that 
unive'rse  into  another.     This  universe  to  which  a  desire 
belongs  is  the  universe  that  is  constituted  by  the  totality 
of  what  we   call  a   man's   character,  as  that  character 
presents  itself  at  the  time  at  which  the  desire  is  felt. 
It  is    in  short,  the  universe  of  the  man  s  ethical  point  of 
view^i  the  moment  in  question.     That  there  are  great 
differences  between  such  universes,  is  evident  from  the 
judgments  that  we  habitually  pass  on  the  representa- 
tions of  human    conduct   in    poems    and    novels   and 
dramas.     We  are  often  aware  that  a  desire  which  is 
attributed  to  a  fictitious  personage  is  not  such  a  desire 
as  a  man  of  his  general  character  and  situation  would 
feel,  or  at  least  not  such  as   he  would  feel  in   such  a 
degree  as  is  attributed  to  him.      It  is  not  such  a  desire, 
in  fact,  as  belongs  to  his  particular  universe.     And  the 
particular  universe  which  we  thus  estimate,  and  which 
varies  so  widely  with  the  characters  of  different  indi- 
viduals, is  not  even  one  that  remains  constant  for  the 
same  person.     We  must  all  be  aware  of  the  different 
desires  that  dominate  our  minds  in  different  moods,  in 
different  conditions,  in  different  states  of  health.     These 
differences  constitute  what  we  may  call  a  difference  of 
universe ;  and  to  each  such  universe  a  different  set  of 
desires,  or  at  least  a  different  arrangement  of  desires, 
belongs.     This  universe  may  even   alter  suddenly  in 
the  same  individual,  through  some  sudden  transforma- 
tion of  conditions.      It  is  such  a  change  that  is  illus- 
trated in  the  old  fable  of  the  cat  which  was  transformed 


/  i 


Y 


^' 


J 


ii  i 


into  a  princess,  but  returned  again  to  its  proper  shape 
on  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  mouse.      The  sudden 
change  of  condition  caused  her  to  drop  at   once  from 
the  universe  of  princess  to  the  universe  of  cat.     Of  such 
transformations  life  is  rich  in  instances.     There  is  a 
German  proverb  that  what  one  wishes  in  youth  one 
has  to  satiety  in  age  ;  but  even  from  year  to  year  and 
from  day  to  day — sometimes  even  from  hour  to  hour — 
we  may  find  ourselves  passing  from  one  universe  into 
another,    where   what   we  formerly   desired    becomes 
uninteresting,  perhaps  even  disgusting.       Any  sudden 
change — the  news  of  the  death  of  a  friend,  the  recollec- 
tion of  a  promise,  the  suggestion  of  a  moral  principle, 
and  the  like — may  carry  us  instantaneously  from  one 
world  into  another.     This  is  illustrated  in  Shakespeare's 
play  of  Loves  Labour  Lost,  where  the  announcement 
of  the  death  of  the  King  of  France  brings  suddenly  to 
a  close  the  wit  and  levity  of  the  preceding  scenes,  and 
introduces  an  entirely  different  tone.     Such  a  change 
may  fairly  be  referred  to  as  a  passage  from  one  uni- 
verse to  another.      Or  again,   such  a  change  may  be 
illustrated  by  tlie  common  transformation  from  a  man's 
Sunday  view  of  life  to  that  which  he  takes  during  the 
rest  of  the  week.     Even  a  change  of  clothes  suffices 
with  some  men  to  produce  a  change  of  universe ;  for 
it  is  not  always  entirely  true  that  "the  cowl  does  not 
make  the  monk." ' 

§  6.  Conflict  of  Desires. — In  the  preceding  section 
we  have  assumed,   for  the  sake  of  simplicity,   that  at 

1  On  the  nature  of  psychological  universes  the  psychology  of 
Herbart  is  particularly  instructive.  Reference  may  be  made  to  Mr. 
Stout's  Articles  in  Mind  and  to  the  same  writer's  Analytic  Psychology^ 
(especially  chaps.  VIII.,  IX.,  and  X.) 

Eth.  . 


50 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CII.  I. 


\\ 


DESIRE   AND   WILL 


51 


any  given  moment  an   individual  occupies  a  definite 
point  of  view,   or  is,  so  to  speak,    an  inhabitant  of  a 
single  universe.     In  reality,  however,   the  content  of 
an  individual's  consciousness  is  not  so  simple.     There 
are  nearly  always  several  points  of  view  present  to  a 
given  individual  at  a  given  moment  ;  or,  at  any  rate, 
several  points  of  view  alternate  with  one  another  so 
rapidly,  that  they  may  practically  be  regarded  as  pre- 
sent together.     A  statesman,  for  instance,  may  be  m- 
fluenced  in  his  conduct  by  motives  derived  from  many 
different   universes.       He    may   occupy  the   universe 
which  is  constituted  by  the  consideration  of  the  good 
of  his  country  ;  and  from  this  point  of  view  he  may 
strongly  desire  to  see  certain   measures  carried  out. 
But  at  the  same  time  he   may  be  not  uninfluenced  by 
considerations    drawn   from  very  different    universes. 
He  may  occupy  also  a  universe  constituted  by  his  own 
personal  ambition,  by  the  welfare  of  his  family,  by  the 
wishes  of  his  constituency,   by  a  view   of  duty  to  the 
world  (as  distinguished  from  his  own  country),   per- 
haps also  by  religious  considerations.     He  may  occupy 
alternately,  and  almost  simultaneously,   all  these  dif- 
ferent points  of  view  ;   and  very  various  desires  may 
arise  in  his  mind  in  consequence.     It  is  probable  that 
some  of  these  desires  will  conflict  with  others.     From 
one  point  of  view  he  may  desire  peace,  from  another 
war  :  from  one  point  of  view  he  may  set  his  heart  on 
liberty,  from  another  on  order.     It  then  comes  to  be  a 
question    which   of  these  ends  the  man   will   finally 
choose.     Now  it  is  often  said  that  in  such  cases  a  man 
will  naturally,   or  even  necessarily,  be  influenced  by 
the  strongest  desire  or  motive.     But  it  must  be  observed 
that  this  mode  of  statement  is  misleading.      It  implies 


I 


I 


I 


that  a  desire  is  an  isolated  thing  :  whereas  in  reahty  it 
forms  part  of  a  universe  or  system.     Consequently,  the 
real  strength  of  a  desire  does  not  depend  on  its  own 
individual  liveliness  or  force,  but  rather  on  the  force 
of  the  universe  or  system  to  which  it  belongs.     Thus  a 
man  might  be  strongly  desirous  of  war  from  a  feehng 
of  hatred  towards  a  foreign  power.     But  if  the  man 
were  of  such  a  character  that  the  sense  of  duty  was 
more  dominant  in  him    than  the  feeling  of  personal 
hatred,  he  might  decide  for  peace,  though  the  desire 
for  peace  in  itself  did  not  strongly  influence  him.     The 
latter  desire    would  conquer,   not  because  it  was   in 
itself  the  stronger,  but  because  it  formed  a  part  of  a 
stronger  universe  or  system.'     Of  course  a  strong  de- 
sire gives  strength  to  the  universe  to  which  it  belongs  ; 
but  the  final  triumph  of  a  desire  depends  not  on  its  own 
individual   dominance,   but  on  the  dominance   of  its 
universe.     How  in  particular  individuals  one  universe 
comes  to  be  dominant  rather  than  another,   is  a  ques- 
tion rather  for  Psychology  than  for  Ethics.     In  so  far  as 
it  concerns  Ethics,  it  will  be  touched  upon  in  some  future 
sections  of  this  book,  ^     In  the   meantime,   what  it  is 
important  to  note  is   merely  that  a  desire  is  not  an 
isolated  phenomenon  but  a  part  of  a  systen.  ;  and  tha 
consequently  a  conflict  of  desires  is  in  reality  a  conflict 
between  two  or  more  universes  of  desire. ' 

1  Cf.  Green's  Prolegomcu.  to  Ethics.  Book  II.,  chap,  i.,  §  105,  P-  108. 
»  See,  for  instance,  Hook  III.,  chap.  vi. 

iCf  Dewey's  Psychology,  pp.  364-3:       "  '«  "  P   .      L„    ,,,,„ 
that  it  is  a  stHfe  or  conflict  which  goes  on  i"  the  man  himself  ;.<<« 

se  fas  one  universe  with  himself  as  another  universe]  :  it  -^  ""t  a  con 
flict  of  htaself  with  something  external  to  him,  nor  of  one  impu  se 
wim  anXr  impulse,  he  meanwhile  remaining  a  passive  spectator 


■  ■  ■  I  ijB  jumiiL'^ipji' wi  I'."  Mi'.i  * 


52 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  I. 


§8.] 


DESIRE   AND   WILL. 


§  7.  Desire   and  WisH.-The   terms    -desire"   and 
-  wish  "  are  frequently  used  as  synonymous  ;  but  there 
is  a  slight  difference  in  the  usage  of  the  terms,  and  it 
seems  desirable  to  employ  them  in  Ethics  in  distinct 
senses.     We  may  say  briefly  that  a  wish  is  an  effective 
desire.     The  meaning  of  this  will  be  more  apparent 
when  it  is  considered  in  relation  to  what  has  just  been 
said  with  regard  to  universes  of  desire  and  the  conflict 
between   them.     It   has   been  stated  that   any  given 
desire  belongs  to  a  system  or  universe,  and  that  various 
such  systems  may  exist  simultaneously  and  come  into 
conflict  with  one  another.     When  such  conflicts  occur, 
certain  desires  predominate  over  others  ;  some  are  sub- 
ordinated or  sink  into  abeyance.     Now  it  may  be  con- 
venient to  limit  the  term  ''  wish"  to  those  desires  that 
predominate  or  continue  to   be  effective.      A   hungry 
man  may  be  said  to  have   a  desire  for  food  ;    but  this 
desire  may  be  dominant  only  within  the   universe  of 
animal  inclination.     The  desire  may  be  kept  in  abey- 
ance by  a  sense  of  religious  obligation,    by  devotion 
to  work,  or  by  some  overmastering  passion.       In  such 
cases  we  may  say  that  the  man  no  longer  wishes  for 
food,  though  a  desire  for  food  continues  to  exist  in  his 
consciousness  as  an  element  in  a  subordinate  universe 
— held,    as   it   were,    in  leash.     A  desire,    then,  which 

awaiting  the  conclusion  of  the  struggle.  What  gives  the  conflict  of 
desires  its  whole  meaning  is  that  it  represents  the  man  at  strife  with 
himself.  He  is  the  opposing  contestants  as  well  as  the  battle-field." 
This  last  expression  was  no  doubt  suggested  to  Prof.  Dewey  by  a  very 
striking  passage  in  Wegoi'sPhilosophy  of  Religion  (I.  (^),\n  which  he 
says  :  "  I  am  not  one  of  the  combatants,  but  rather  both  of  the  com- 
batants and  also  the  combat  itself " ;  or,  as  Principal  Caird  renders  it 
{Philosophy  of  Religion,  chap.  ix..  p.  262^  :  "  I  am  at  once  the  combat- 
ants and  the  conflict  and  the  field  that  is  torn  with  the  btrife." 


53 


\ 


has   become  ineffective,  is    not    to    be  described  as  a 
wish. ' 

§  8.  W^isH  AND  Will. -If  it  is  important  to   distin- 
guish an  effective  wish  from  a  mere  latent  desire   it  is 
still  more  important  to  distinguish  a  wish  from  a'  defi- 
nite act  of  will.     It  might  seem  at  first  that  if  a  wish  is 
a  dominant  desire  it  must  always  issue  in   will      But 
this  is  not  the  case.     The  reason  is  that  a  wish  is  often 
of  an  abstract  character,  directed  towards  some  single 
element  in  a  concrete  event,   without  reference  to  the 
accompanying  circumstances.     In  order,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  an  event  may  be  willed,  it  has  to  be  accepted 
in  Its  concrete  totality.      W^hen  Lady  Anne,  in  Shake- 
speare's King  Richard  III.,  says  to  the  Duke  of  GIou- 
cester, 

"  Though  I  wish  thy  death, 
I  will  not  be  the  executioner," 

the  contrast  between  wish  and  will  is  well  brought  out 
The  wish  for  the  death  is  a  mere  abstract  wish,   since 
It  does  not  include  the  means  by  which  the  death  might 
be  brought  about. ^     On  the  other  hand,  when   a  total 
concrete  effect  is  willed,  it  may  include  many  elements 

1 1  use  the  term  wish,  it  will  be  observed,  in  a  sense  almost  cor- 
respondmg  to  the  Aristotelian  ^ovA,,.,,  (as  distinguished  from  5pef..) 
See,  for  instance,  De  Anima,  III.,  ix.  3,  III.,  x.  3,  &c.    E.  W^allace 
ranslates  ^oa^.  «>  settled  wish."    It  should  be  observed,  however 

Oftn  Zh-  f-'  "^^"^^^T  ""^^'■^t^^^  i"  this  way  by  Psychologists. 
Often  no  distmction  is  drawn  between  Desire  and  Wish  ;  and  when 
adistinction  is  drawn,  it  is  frequently  drawn  in  a  different  w^ay  (some- 
times  almost  in  the  opposite  way). 

2  Often,  of  course,  the  means  are  entirely  beyond  our  power 
Thus,  vye  may  wish  for  a  change  of  weather,  or  to  live  some  part  of 
our  past  lives  over  again.      Here  the  wish  cannot  pass  into  will 
because  as  soon  as  we  thinkof  the  means,  we  see  that  they  are  out 


I 


54 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CII.  I. 


*%^ 


9-1 


DESIRE  AND  WILL. 


55 


that  are  not  in  themselves  wished,  and  even  elements 
to  which  the  agent's  wishes  are  strenuously  oppos^ 
This  also  may  be  illustrated  from  Shakespeare      \^  hen 
the  apothecary,  in  Romeo  and  Me,   says  to  Romeo, 
on  agreeing  to  sell  him  the  poison, 

'•  My  poverty,  but  not  my  will,  consents,"  i 
what  he  means  is  evidently  that  his  wish  does  not  con- 
sent     He  does  will  the  sale  of  the  poison-he  accepts 
that'concrete  act-but  he  wishes  it  were  not  necessary 
for  him  to  do  so.     The  dominant  single  desire,  we  may 
say   is  opposed  to  the  sale  of  the  poison  (t.  e.  if  we  as- 
sume that  the  apothecary  was  honest  in  his   declara- 
tion) •  but  the  dominant  universe  of  desire  is  that  which 
is  constituted  by  his  poverty,   and  by  this  he  is  led  to 
will  the  sale.     Briefly,   then,  we  may  say  that  a  wish 
is  a  dominant  single  desire  ;  whereas  the  will  depends 
on  the  dominance  of  a  universe  of  desire.^ 

§  9    Will  and  Act.— Another  important  distinction  is 
that  between  the  mere  Will  (/.   e.  the  mere  ui/en/ion, 
purpose,  or  reso/u/ion)  and  the  carrying  of  it  into  act. 
A  resolution  has  always  reference  to  something  that  is 
more  or  less  future.     Sometimes  it  refers   to  the  2m^ 
mediate  future,   and  is  carried  into  effect  at  once.      At 
other  times  it  refers  to  the  remote  future,  and  remains 
in  abeyance  till  the  proper  time  arrives.      In  the  latter 
case  the  purpose  may  never  be  carried  into  effect  at  all. 
An  intention  or  resolution  is  always  something  more 
than  a  mere  wish  :  it  is  the  definite  acceptance  of  a 

1  This  passage  is  discussed  in  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  §  143. 
p.  148.  '*  The  will,"  Green  says,  "  is  only  the  strong  competing  wish 
which  does  not  suffice  to  determine  action." 

2  This  use  of  the  term  will  seems  to  correspond  pretty  closely  to 
the  Aristotelian  Trpoatpecrts. 


I 


concrete  event  as  an  object  to  be  aimed  at.  But  if  this 
event  is  remote,  the  purpose  may  lie  within  one  uni- 
verse and  the  carrying  of  it  out  within  another.  When 
the  time  for  action  comes,  the  conditions  may  have 
changed.  At  the  lowest  there  will  be  this  change,  that 
what  was  formerly  presented  merely  in  anticipative 
imagination  is  now  presented  as  an  actual  fact.  To 
resolve  to  make  a  confession,  for  instance,  is  one 
thing  :  actually  to  make  it,  in  the  presence  of  those  to 
whom  it  has  to  be  made,  is  often  a  very  different  thing. 
In  the  former  case  the  accompanying  circumstances 
are  only  presented  in  an  imaginative  and  partly  sym- 
bolic w^ay  :  in  the  latter  case  they  are  actually  present 
to  sense.  Now,  the  actual  facts  may  not  correspond 
to  the  anticipation.  Those  to  whom  the  confession 
w^as  to  be  made,  for  instance,  may  be  found  to  be  in  a 
different  mood  from  what  was  expected.  And  even  if 
the  anticipation  proves  substantially  correct,  still,  in 
the  actual  presentation  we  may  be  impressed  by  ac- 
cessory circumstances  of  which  we  had  not  taken  any 
particular  account.  The  man  who  resolves  to  get  up 
at  an  early  hour  may  not  have  thought  particularly 
about  the  coldness  of  the  morning  air,  or  about  the 
pleasantness  of  lying  in  bed  ;  whereas,  when  the  time 
comes,  these  may  be  among  the  most  impressive 
circumstances.  Or,  again,  when  Lady  Macbeth  in- 
tended to  murder  Duncan,  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
he  might  resemble  her  father.  So,  too,  when  Hamlet 
resolved  to  carry  out  the  behests  of  the  Ghost,  he  did 
not  think  of  all  the  doubts  that  might  suggest  them- 
selves to  his  mind  after  the  Ghost  had  vanished.  Thus 
"enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment,"  as  well  as 
more    insignificant    designs,    may   be   frustrated   by   a 


56 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  I. 


change  of  universe  ;  and  the  '' best  intentions     or   he 
worst,  may  lead  to  nothing.'     This  is  especially  true 
when  the  purpose   is   one   that   carries   great   conse-  - 
quences  in    its    train,    involving   perhaps  a   complete 
change  of  the  world  within  which  we  have  been  living. 
In  such  a  case  the  changed  world  cannot  be  with  any 
completeness  imagined,  and  some  very  small  circum- 
stance may  easily  give  a  completely  new  turn  to  our 
thoughts      The  ' '  insurrection  "  ^  by  which  the  universe 
within  which  we  are  living  is  to  be  overthrown  cannot 
be   at   once    carried   out,    and    we    cannot    with    any 
thoroughness  think  ourselves  into  the  new  conditions 
that  are  to  arise.     Thus  a  mere  resolution  is  still  far 
from  being  an  ac/J     What  is  commonly  called  ''  force 
of  will "  means  the  power  of  carrying  resolutions  into 
act.     This  power  depends  largely  on  the  habit  of  fixing 
our  attention  upon  the  salient  features  of  an  object  that 
is  aimed  at,  and  not  allowing  ourselves  to  be  distracted 
by  subordinate  conditions.     Hence,  narrow-minded  or 
hard-hearted  men  have  often  more  ''force  of  will,"  in 
this  sense,  than  those  who  take  wider  views.     But  a 
wide-minded  man  may  also  acquire  "  force  of  will  '*  by 
taking  a  clear  and  decided  view  of  the  circumstances 

1  Cf.  below,  Book  III.,  chap,  vi.,  §  3. 

2  Cf.  Shakespeare's  Julius  Ca'sar,  Act  II.,  scene  i.,  11.  63  sqq. 

"  Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream  : 
The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  State  of  man, 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection." 
8  For  an  admirable  summary  of  the  elements  involved  in  an  act  of 
will,  see  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  48-50. 


II.] 


DESIRE   AND   WITX. 


57 


that  are  important,  and  thus  eliminating  insignificant 

details. 

§  10.  The  Meaning  of  Purpose.— When  Will  is  regarded 
in  relation  to  the  end  at  which  it  aims,  it  is  called  Pur- 
pose.    This  term,  however,   is  sometimes  used  also  to 
describe  the  end  itself,  rather  than  the  fact  of  aiming  at 
an  end.    Purpose  should  be  carefully  distinguished  from 
those  tendencies  to  action  which  accompany  appetite, 
desire,  and  wish.      Action  based  on  appetite  is  generally 
described  as  impulsive  ;  but  this  term  is  sometimes  used 
also  with  reference  to  actions  that  issue  from  desire. 
We  may  use  the  terms  Blind  Impulse  and  Conscious 
Impulse  to  mark  the  distinction.     The  tendency  of  a 
wish,    again,   to  issue  in  action  is  most  properly  de- 
scribed by  the  term  Inclination.     When  we  are  mclined 
to  do  anything,  we  are  not  merely  conscious  of  an 
impulse  to  do  it,  but  we  to  a  certain  extent  approve  the 
impulse  ;  though  it  maybe  that,  on  reflection,  we  may 
resolve  not  to  follow  it.     A  Purpose  or  Resolution  is 
thus  distinguished  from  an  Impulse  (whether  Blind  or 
Conscious)  and  from  an  Inclination. 

§11.  Will  and  Character.— "  A  character,"  said 
Novalis,  *'  is_a  completely  fashioned  will."  Character 
may  be  said,  in  the  language  we  have  just  been  using, 
to  consist  in  the  continuous  dominance  of  a  definite 
universe.  A  man  of  good  character  is  one  in  whom 
the  universe  of  duty  habitually  predominates.  A  miser 
is  one  in  whom  the  dominant  universe  is  that  which  is 
constituted  by  the  love  of  money.  A  fanatic  is  one  in 
whom  some  particular  universe  is  so  entirely  dominant 
as  to  shut  out  entirely  other  important  points  of  view. 
And  in  like  manner  all  other  kinds  of  character  m.ay  be 
described  by  reference  to  the  nature  of  the  universe  that 


58 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  I. 


is  dominant  in  them.  When  Pope  said  that  "Most 
women  have  no  characters  at  all,  "  he  meant  that  the 
universes  of  desire  in  which  they  live  are  so  continually 
varying  that  no  one  of  them  can  be  said  to  be  habit- 
ually dominant.  And  certainly  it  is  the  case  that 
most  men,  as  well  as  most  women,  cannot  be  ac- 
counted for  by  so  simple  an  exj)lanation  as  the  exclu- 
sive dominance  of  such  "  ruling  passions"  as  Pope  dealt 
with.  In  the  case  of  most  actual  human  beings  what 
we  have  is  not  so  much  any  one  universe  that  decidedly 
predominates  as  a  number  of  universes  that  stand  to 
one  another  in  certain  definite  relations.  The  different 
relations  in  which  they  stand  to  one  another  constitute 
the  differences  of  character.  How  it  comes  that  now 
one,  and  now  another,  predominates,  is,  as  we  have 
already  remarked,  a  question  rather  for  Psychology 
than  for  Ethics.  The  habitual  modes  of  action  that 
accompany  a  formed  character  are  described  by  the 
term  Conduct.  The  meaning  of  this  we  shall  have  to 
discuss  almost  immediately. ' 

•Mr.  Stout's  article  on  "Voluntary  Action"  {Mind,  New  Series, 
Vol.  v.,  no.  19)  will  be  found  in  the  highest  degree  instructive  on 
several  of  the  points  referred  to  in  this  chapter,  as  well  as  on  some 
of  those  that  are  dealt  with  in  the  following  chapters.  See  also  the 
closing  chapter  of  his  Manual  of  Psychology. 


( 


i 


I] 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


59 


' 


CHAPTER   II. 


MOTIVE    AND    INTENTION. 


§  1.  Preliminary  Remarks.— So  far  we  have  been 
considering  the  general  nature  of  the  relati-onship 
between  Desire  and  Will.  It  is  now  necessary  that  we 
should  direct  our  attention  to  the  nature  of  the  end 
involved  in  Volition  ;  and,  in  particular,  that  we 
should  consider  the  important  distinction  between  an 
Intention  and  a  Motive.  This  \s  a  point  on  which  a 
good  deal  of  discussion  has  turned  ;  and,  owing  to 
the  great  difficulties  that  are  involved  in  it,  it  is  a 
point  that  requires  very  careful  study.  First,  then,  we 
must  try  to  understand  exactly  what  Intention  and 
Motive  mean. 

§  2.  The  Meaning  of  Intention. — The  term  Inten- 
tion corresponds  pretty  closely  to  the  term  Purpose. 
Indeed,  they  are  sometimes  used  as  synonymous. 
But  Purpose  seems  to  refer  rather  to  the  mental 
activity,  and  Intention  to  the  end  towards  which  the 
mental  activity  is  directed.  Intention,  understood  in 
this  sense,  means  anything  which  we  purpose  to 
bring  about?  Now  what  we  thus  purpose  is  often 
a  very  complicated  result;  We  may  aim  at  some 
external  end,  /.  e.  at  the  accomplishment  of  some 
change  in  the  physical  world— 6".  g.  the  building  of  a 
house  ;  or  in  the  social  system  within  which  we  live— 


6o 


ETHICS. 


fliK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


§2.] 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


6l 


e.  g.  the  overthrow  of  a  government;  or,  again,  we 
may  aim  at  the  bringing  about  of  some  state  of  our 
own  minds,  or  at  the  realization  of  some  principle. 
Some  distinctions  between  different  kinds  of  Intention 
may  help  to  make  this  clear. 

In  the  first  place,  we  may  distinguish  between  the 
immediate  and  the  remote  intentions  of  an  act.  Thus, 
two  men  may  both  have  the  immediate  intention  of 
saving  a  third  from  drowning  ;  but  the  one  ma^  wish 
to  save  him  from  drowning  simply  in  order  that  his 
life  may  be  preserved,  whereas  the  other  may  wish 
to  save  him  from  drowning  in  order  that  he  may  be 
reserved  for  hanging. '  In  this  case,  while  the  imme- 
diate intentions  are  the  same,  the  remote  intentions 
are  very  different.  The  remote  intention  of  an  act  is 
sometimes  called  the  motive  ;  but  this  use  of  the  term 
seems  to  be  incorrect. 

In  the  second  place,  we  may  distinguish  between 
the  outer  and  the  imier  intention  of  an  act.  This  may 
be  illustrated  by  the  familiar  story  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  and  the  pig  that  he  helped  out  of  a  ditch.  'On 
being  praised  for  this  action,  Lincoln  is  said  to  have 
replied  that  he  did  it,  not  for  the  sake  of  the  pig,  but 
rather  on  his  own  account,  in  order  to  rid  his  mind 
of  the  uncomfortable  thought  of  the  animal's  distress.-^ 
Here  the  outer  intention  was  to  rescue  the  animal, 
wdiile  the  inner  intention  was  to  remove  an  uncom- 
fortable feeling  from  the  mind.  The  inner  intention, 
in  this  instance,  is  evidently  only  a  particular  case  of 
the  remote  intention  ;  but  it  is  not  so  in  every  in- 
stance.    Thus  if  a  man  were  to  endeavour  to  produce 

1  Cf.  Mill's  rtilitariaiiism,  chap.  ii.  p.  27,  note. 


a  certain  feeling  in  his  mind— say,  of  penitence  or 
of  faitli— with  the  view  of  securing  the  favour  of 
Heaven,  the  immediate  intention  would  be  an  inner 
one  while  the  remote  intention  would  be  outer.  The 
inner  intention  of  an  act,  like  the  remote  intention,  is 
sometimes  apt  to  be  confounded  with  the  motive. 

In  the  third  place,  we  may  distinguish  between  the 
direct  and  the  indirect  intention  of  an  act.  If  a  Nihilist 
seeks  to  blow  up  a  train  containing  an  Emperor  and 
others,-  his  direct  intention  may  be  simply  the  de- 
struction of  the  Emperor,  but  indirectly  also  he  in- 
tends the  destruction  of  the  others  who  are  in  the 
train,  since  he  is  aware  that  their  destruction  will  be 
necessarily  included  along  with  that  of  the  Emperor. 

In  the  fourth  place,  we  may  distinguish  between 
the  conscious  and  the  unconscious  intention  of  an  act. 
To  what  extent  any  intention  can  be  unconscious,  is 
a  question  for  psychology.  By  an  unconscious  inten- 
tion is  here  understood  simply  an  intention  which  the 
agent  does  not  definitely  avow  to  himself.  A  man  s 
conduct  is  often  in  reality  profoundly  influenced  by 
such  intentions.  Thus  the  intention  which  he  avows 
to  himself  may  be  that  of  promoting  the  well-being  of 
mankind,  while  in  reahty  he  may  be  much  more 
strongly   influenced   by   that   of  advancing   his   own 

reputation.  .  ,    ,    ,  ^u 

In  the  fifth  place,  we  may  distinguish  between  the 
format  and  the  material  intention  of  an  act  The 
material  intention  means  the  particular  result  as  a 
realized  fact ;  the  formal  intention  means  the  principle 
embodied  in  the  fact.  Two  men  may  both  aim  at  the 
1  Cf  Sidgwicks  Mdlwds  of  Ethics.  Book  III.,  chap,  i.,  §  3  (p.  202. 
note  2). 


\ 


62 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


overthrow  of  a  particular  government.  Their  material 
intentions  are  in  that  case  the  same.  But  the  one 
may  aim  at  its  overthrow  because  he  thinks  it  too 
progressive,  the  other  because  he  thinks  it  too  con- 
servative The  intentions  of  the  two  men  are  in  this 
case  very  different  formally,  though  their  actions 
(which  may  consist  simply  in  the  giving  of  a  vote) 
may  be  materially  the  same. 

These  distinctions  are  given  here,  not  as  being  an 
exhaustive  list,  but  simply  with  the  view  of  bringing 
out  the  complications  that  may  be  involved  in  a  pur- 
pose. It  is  important  to  bring  them  out,  since, 
otherwise,  the  relation  between  motive  and  intention 
can  hardly  be  explained. 

Summing  up,  then,  we  may  say,  that  an  intention, 
in  the  broadest  sense  of  the  term,  means  any  aim  that 
is  definitely  adopted  as  an  object  of  will  ;  and  that 
such  intentions  may  be  of  various  distinct  kinds: 

§  3.  Meaning  of  Motive. — The  term  ''  motive  "  is  not. 
less  ambiguous  than  "  intention.""'.  The  motive  means, 
of  course,  what  moves  us  or  causes  us  to  act  ip  a  par- 
ticular way.  Now  there  is  an  ambiguity  in  the  term 
"cause."  A  cause  may  be  either  efficient  or  final. 
The  efficient  cause  of  a  man's  movements,  for  instance, 
is  the  action  of  certain  nerves,  muscles,  &c.  ;  the  final 
cause  is  the  desired  end,  the  reaching  of  a  destination 
or  the  production  of  a  result.  There  is  a  similar  ambi- 
guity in  the  use  of  the  term  "motive."'  A  motive 
may  be  understood  to  mean  either  that  which  impels 
or  that  which  induces  us  to  act  in  a  particular  way. 

In  the  former  sense,  we  say  that  we  are   moved    by 

Cy.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  58-60.     * 


\ 


§3.] 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


63 


feeling  or  emotion.     Thus  we  say  that  a  man's  motive 
was  anger,  or  jealousy,  or  fear,  or  pity,  or  pleasure,  or 
pain.   Some  writers  '  have  even  maintained  that  pleasure 
and  pain  are  the  only  ultimate  motives.     This  view  we 
shall  shortly  require  to  consider.     In  the   meantime  we 
have  simply  to  remark  that  it  is  no  doubt  true  that  men 
are  sometimes  moved  to  action  by  feeling.     In  conduct 
on  which  a  moral  judgment  can   be   passed,  however, 
a  man  is  never  solely  moved  by  feeling.      If  a  man  is 
entirely  "carried  away"  by  feeling— by  anger  or  fear, 
for  instance— he  cannot  properly  be  said  to  act  at  all, 
any  more  than  a  stone  acts  when  a  man  throws  it  at 
an  object.     We  may  judge  the  character  of  a  man  who 
is  carried  away  by  feeling  or  passion  :  we  may  say 
that  he  ought  not  to  have  allowed  himself  to  be   so 
carried  away  ;  but  if  he  is  entirely  mastered  by  his 
passion,  we  cannot  pass  a  moral  judgment  on  his  act, 
any  more  than  on  the  act  of  a  madman,  or  one  who  is 
drunk.     Moral  activity  or  conduct  is  purposeful  action  ; 
and  action  with  a  purpose  is  not  simply  moved  by 
feeling  :  it  is  moved  rather  by  the  thought  of  some  end 
to  be  attained.     This  leads  us  to  the  second,  and  more 
correct,  sense  in  which  the  term   "motive"  may  be 

used.  ,         ,  .J     . 

The  distinction  may  be  made  clear  by  considering 

the  case  of  a  man   who  is   "  moved  by  pity  "  to  give 

assistance  to  a  fellow-creature  in  distress.     The  mere 

feeling  of  pity  is  evidently  not  sufficient  to  move  us  to 

action.     It  may  serve  as  an  element  in  the  efficient 

cause  of  action—/,  e.  the  man  who  has  a  keen  sense  of 

pity  may  be  more  readily  impelled  to  action  than  the 

one  whose  feeling  is  comparatively  blunt.     But  the 

1  E.  g.  Bentham. 


i 


64 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  T.,  CH.  II. 


feeling   itself  is  not  a  sufficient  inducement  to  action. 
By  itself,  it  moves  at  the  utmost  to  tears-as.  for  in- 
stance,  in  the  theatre,  when  we  witness  imagnmry  dis- 
tresses     When   a  man  is  moved  to   action,  he  must 
have   besides  the   mere  feeling,  the  conception  of  an 
end  to  be   attained.     He  perceives   a  fellow-creature, 
for  instance,  in  a  wretched  plight,  and  sees   that,  by  a 
certain  effort,  the  man  might  be  put  in  a  more  favour- 
able position.     The  putting  of  the  man  m  this  more 
favourable  position    presents  itself  to   his  mmd  as   a 
desirable  end  ;  and  the  thought  of  this  desirable   end 
induces  him  to  ict  in  a  particular  way.     If  he  feels 
pity   in  addition,  this  may  impel  him  the  more  readily 
to  such  an  action  ;  but  the  feeling  of  pity  is  not,  by 
itself,  the   inducement  to  the   action,   u  e.  the  motive 
in    the  more  correct  sense.     The  motive,  that  which 
induces  us  to  act,  is  the  thougl.it  of  a  desirable  end.» 
^4.   Relation   between   Motives   and    Intentions. — 

1  So  also  when,  in  Goldsmith's  ballad, 

"  The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends, 
Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man," 

the  motive  was  constituted  by  the  gaining  of  some  private  ends,  not 
by  the  mere  madness.    Cf.  Tuckers  Light  of  Nature,  chap.  v.     The 
view  of  Motive  given  above  seems  to  be  essentially  that  of  Aristotle, 
when  he  says  (D^  ^mma,  III.  x.4)  «t  ^c^-el  t6  6p«To.  (  "it  is  always 
the  desired  object  that  moves  to  action  "  ).    Some  writers,  however, 
still  object  to  this  use  of  the  term.     See,  for  instance,  the  discussions 
in  the  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  IV.,  Nos.  i  and  2.    Pro- 
fessor Ritchie  maintains  there  (p.  236)  that  "  'desire'  is  the  genus  of 
which  'motive'  is  a  species.    The  differentia  of  'motive'  is  the 
presence  of  a  conception  of    an  end."    But  surely  this  must  be 
erroneous.    Surely  all  desire  involves  a  conception  of  an  end.     It  is 
right  to  add  that  the  term  "  motive  "  seems  originally  to  have  been 
used  for  any  efficient  cause  of  movement.     It  appears  to  be  used  in 
this  way  in  Shakespeare's  description  of  Cressida— 


§4-] 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


65 


From  what  has  now^  been  said,  it  is  evident  that  the 
relation  between  motives  and  intentions  is  a  very  close 
one.  The  motive  of  our  act  is  that  which  induces  us 
to  perform  it.  Now  it  is  evident  that  this  must  be  in- 
cluded in  the  intention,  in  the  broadest  sense  of  that 
term,  but  need  not  be,  and  generally  will  not  be,  iden- 
tical with  the  whole  of  it. '  What  induces  us  *o  perform 
an  act  is  always  something  that  w^e  hope  to  achieve 
by  it  ;  ^  but  there  may  be  much  that  we  expect  to 
achieve  by  it  (and  even  that  we  consciously  intend  to 
achieve  by  it)  which  would  not  serve  as  an  inducement 
to  its  performance,  and  which  might  even  serve  as  an 
inducement  not  to  perform  it.  The  motive  of  a  reform- 
er may  be  partly  that  of  improving  the  state  of  man- 
kind and  partly  that  of  acquiring  fame  for  himself. 
Both  of  these  ends  form  part  of  his  intention,  in  the 
widest  sense  of  the  term.  But  he  may  also  be  well 
aware  that  the  result  of  his  action  will  be,  for  a  time, 
"not  to  send  peace  on  the  earth,  but  a  sword."  He 
may  anticipate  a  certain  amount  of  confusion  and 
misery  as  the  immediate  result  of  his  action,  and  per- 
haps   also    of  persecution  for  himself.     If  he  clearly 

"  Her  wanton  spirits  look  out 
At  every  joint  and  motive  of  her  body." 
But  here,  as  in  so  many  other  cases,  the  meaning  of  the  word  has 
been  gradually  modified,  partly  to  suit  the  conveniences  of  ordinary 
life,  and  partly  to  meet  the  requirements  of  science. 

1  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  61.  When  Prof.  Dewey 
{Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  9)  says  that  "  the  foreseen,  the  ideal  conse- 
quences are  the  end  of  the  act,  and  as  such  form  the  motive,"  he 
appears  to  identify  the  motive  with  the  whole  intention.  This  seems 
to  me  to  be  erroneous,  or  at  least  to  be  an  inconvenient  use  of  the 
term.  For  the  meaning  of  "  ideal  "  in  this  phrase  of  Prof.  Dewey's, 
see  above.  Introduction,  chap,  ii.,  §  5,  note. 

2  Except  of  course  when  we  are  impelled  by  mere  feeling  or  passion. 

Eth.  5 


66 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


foresees  that  these  resuUs  will  ensue  on  his  action,  it 
can  scarcely  be  said  that  he  does  not  intend  them.  He 
deliberately  accepts  them  as  being-  inevitably  involved 
in  the  good  result  which  he  hopes  to  achieve.  But 
assuredly  we  may  say  that  these  evil  consequences 
form  no  part  of  his  motive  in  endeavouring  to  achieve 
the  good  result.  Or,  to  take  a  still  simpler  case,  when 
Brutus  helped  to  kill  Caesar,  in  order  to  save  his  coun- 
try,' he  certainly  intended  to  kill  Caesar,  but  the  killing 
of  Caesar  was  no  part  of  his  motive. 

The  motive  of  an  act,  then,  is  a  part  of  the  intention, 
in  the  broadest  sense  of  that  term,  but  does  not  neces- 
sarily include  the  whole  of  the  intention.  Adopting 
the  distinctions  that  have  been  drawn  in  section  2,  we 
may  say  that  the  motive  generally  includes  the  greater 
part  of  the  remote  intention,  but  frequently  does  not 
include  much  of  the  immediate  intention  ;  that  it 
generally  includes  the  direct  intention,  but  not  the 
indirect;  that  it  nearly  always  includes  the  formal 
intention,  but  often  not  much  of  the  material  intention  ; 
and  that  it  may  be  either  outer  or  inner,  conscious  or 
unconscious. 

§  5.  Is  THE  Motive  always  Pleasure  .?— We  are  n( 
in  a  position  to  deal  with  the  question,  to  wh. 
allusion  has  already  been  made,  whether  the  mot 
to  action  is  always  pleasure.  This  question  must 
carefully  distinguished,  at  the  outset,  from  the  quest; 
whether  pleasure  is  always  involved  in  the  presentatj 
of  any  motive.  This  distinction  has  been  expresi 
as  that  between  iaki7ig  pleasure  in  an  idea  and  aimx 


1  Assuming  the  view  taken  by  Plutarch  and  Shakespeare  to  be 
correct.    For  a  different  view  of  Brutus,  see  Froude  s  Cmar.  V 


\ 


§6.] 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


6y 


at  the  idea  0/ pleasure.  It  is  probably  true  that  every- 
thing at  which  we  aim  is  thought  of  as  pleasant.  We 
take  pleasure  in  the  idea  of  accomplishing  our  end. 
To  say  this  is  obviously  a  very  different  thing  from 
saying  that  the  idea  of  pleasure  is  the  end  at  which  we 
aim,  or  that  pleasure  is  always  that  which  serves  as 
the  inducement  to  action. '  The  former  view  would 
be  generally  accepted  by  all  psychologists  ;  the  latter 
is  the  doctrine  of  those  who  are  known  as  Psychological 
Hedonists.  This  doctrine  is  expressed,  for  instance,  in 
the  following  passage  from  Bentham,^  ''Nature  has 
placed  man  under  the  empire  of  pleasure  and  oi  pain. 
We  owe  to  them  all  our  ideas  ;  we  refer  to  them  all 
our  judgments,  and  all  the  determinations  of  our  life. 
He  who  pretends  to  withdraw  himself  from  this  sub- 
jection knows  not  what  he  says.  His  only  object  is 
to  seek  pleasure  and  to  shun  pain,  even  at  the  very 
instant  that  he  rejects  the  greatest  pleasures  or  em- 
braces pains  the  most  acute.  These  eternal  and 
irresistible  sentiments  ought  to  be  the  great  study  of 
the  moralist  and  the  legislator.  The  principle  of  utility 
subjects  everything  to  these  two  motives."  Here  we 
have  a  clear  statement  of  the  view  that  pleasure  and 
pain  are  the  only  possible  motives  to  action,  the  only 
ends  at  which  we  can  aim.  This  is  the  view  that  we 
have  now  to  consider. 

§  6.  Psychological  Hedonism. — Psychological  He- 
donism is  the  theory  that  the  ultimate  object  of  desire 
is  pleasure.     The  best  known  exponent  of  this  doctrine 

1  It  is  probably  true,  as  Mr.  Bradley  has  urged,  that  the  idea  of 
pleasure  is  always  pleasant  (see  Mind,  New  Series,  Vol.  IV,  no.  14). 
But  this  does  not  affect  the  present  point. 

2  Principles  of  Legislation,  chap.  I. 


68 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


is  John  Stuart  Mill. '  In  the  fourth  chapter  of  his  book 
on  Utilitarianism  he  reasons  in  the  following  way. 
**  And  now  to  decide  whether  this  is  really  so  ;  whether 
mankind  do  desire  nothing  for  itself  but  that  which  is 
a  pleasure  to  them,  or  of  which  the  absence  is  a  pain  ; 
we  have  evidently  arrived  at  a  question  of  fact  and 
experience,  dependent,  like  all  similar  questions,  upon 
evidence.  It  can  only  be  determined  by  practised 
self-consciousness  and  self-observation,  assisted  by 
observation  of  others.  I  believe  that  these  sources  of 
evidence,  impartially  consulted,  will  declare  that  desir- 
ing a  thing  and  finding  it  pleasant,  aversion  to  it  and 
thinking  of  it  as  painful,  are  phenomena  entirely  insep- 
arable, or  rather  two  parts  of  the  same  phenomenon  ; 
in  strictness  of  language,  two  different  modes  of  naming 
the  same  psychological  fact  :  that  to  think  of  an  object 
as  desirable  (except  for  the  sake  of  its  consequences), 
and  to  think  of  it  as  pleasant,  are  one  and  the  same 
thing  ;  and  that  to  desire  anything,  except  in  propor- 
tion as  the  idea  of  it  is  pleasant,  is  a  physical  and 
metaphysical  impossibility."  This  passage  has  been 
well  criticised  by  Dr.  Sidgwick  in  \\\s  Methods  of  Ethics 
(Book  I.,  chap.  iv.).  He  says — "Mill  explains  that 
'  desiring  a  thing  and  finding  it  pleasant,  are,  in  strict- 

1  Nearly  all  Hedonists,  however,  especially  egoistic  Hedonists, 
have  with  more  or  less  clearness  adopted  this  position.  For  a  general 
historical  exposition  of  the  Hedonistic  point  of  view,  the  student  may 
be  referred  to  Lecky's  History  of  European  Morals,  chap,  i.,  and 
Watson's  Hedonistic  Theories,  from  Aristippus  to  Spencer.  The  chief 
living  exponent  of  psychological  Hedonism  is  Professor  Bain.  See 
his  Menial  and  Moral  Science,  Book  IV.,  chap,  iv.,  and  The  Emotions 
and  the  Will,  "  The  Will,"  chap.  viii.  Dr.  Bain,  however,  admits  that 
it  is  possible,  "  for  moments,"  to  aim  at  other  things  than  pleasure. 
On  the  general  meaning  of  Hedonism  and  its  chief  varieties,  see 
below,  Book  II.,  chap,  iv.,  §§  1-4. 


§7-] 


MOTIVE  AND   INTENTION. 


69 


ness  of  language,  two  modes  of  naming  the  same 
psychological  fact.'  If  this  be  the  case,  it  is  hard  to 
see  how  the  proposition  we  are  discussing  requires  to 
be  determined  by  'practised  self-consciousness  and 
self-observation  ; '  as  the  denial  of  it  would  involve  a 
contradiction  in  terms.  The  truth  is  that  there  is  an 
ambiguity  in  the  word  Pleasure,  which  has  always 
tended  seriously  to  confuse  the  discussion  of  this  ques- 
tion. When  we  speak  of  a  man  doing  something  at 
his  own  'pleasure,'  or  as  he  'pleases,'  we  usually  sig- 
nify the  mere  fact  of  choice  or  preference  ;  the  mere 
determination  of  the  will  in  a  certain  direction.  Now, 
if  by  'pleasant'  we  mean  that  which  influences 
choice,  exercises  a  certain  attractive  force  on  the  will, 
it  is  an  assertion  incontrovertible  because  tautological, 
to  say  that  we  desire  what  is  pleasant— or  even  that 
we  desire  a  thing  in  proportion  as  it  appears  pleasant." 
This  would  mean  simply  that  we  desire  it  in  proportion 
as  we  desire  it;  because  "appears  pleasant  "  means 
simply  "is  desired  by  us."  But,  as  Dr.  Sidgwick  goes 
on  to  say,  if  we  understand  "pleasure"  in  a  more  exact 
sense,  it  is  not  obvious  that  what  we  desire  is  always 
pleasure.  If  we  take  pleasure  to  mean  the  agree- 
able feeling  which  attends  the  satisfaction  of  our  wants, 
it  is  not  by  any  means  evident  that  this  is  always  what 
we  desire.  On  the  contrary,  it  seems  evident  rather 
that  this  is  not  always  what  we  desire. 

§7.  The  Object  of  Desire,  (i)  The  Paradox  of  He- 
donism.—\\\  the  part  of  the  Methods  of  Ethics  to  which 
reference  has  just  been  made.  Dr.  Sidgwick  goes  on  to 
argue  that  in  fact  what  we  desire  is  very  frequently 
some  objective  end,  and  not  the  accompanying  plea- 
sure.     He  points   out  that  even   when    we   do  desire 


70 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


pleasure,  the  best  way  to  get  it  is  often  to  forget  it. 
If  we  think  about  the  pleasure  itself,  we  are  almost 
sure   to    miss    it  ;  whereas    if    we    direct    our   aesires 
towards  objective  ends,  the  pleasure  comes  of  itself. 
This  is  not  true  of  all  pleasures.      It  is  true  chiefly  of 
the  "pleasures  of  pursuit."'     "Take,    for   example," 
says  Dr.  Sidgwick,   "the  case  of  any  game  which  in- 
volves— as  most  games  do — a  contest  for  victory.     No 
ordinary  player  before  entering  on  such  a  contest,  has 
any  desire  for  victory  in   it  :  indeed  he  often  finds  it 
difficult  to  imagine  himself  deriving  gratification  from 
such  victory,  before  he   has  actually  engaged    in   the 
competition.     What  he  deliberately,  before  the  game 
begins,  desires,  is  not  victory,  but  the  pleasant  excite- 
ment of  the  struggle  for  it  ;  only  for  the  full  develop- 
ment of  this  pleasure  a  transient  desire  to  win  the  game 
is  generally   indispensable.      This   desire,   which   does 
not  exist  at  first,  is  stimulated  to  considerable  intensity 
by  the  competition  itself"     "A  certain  degree  of  dis- 
interestedness seems  to  be  necessary  in  order  to  obtain 
full  enjoyment.      A  man  who  maintains  throughout  an 
epicurean  mood,  fixing  his  aim  on  his  own  pleasure, 
does  not  catch  the  full  spirit  of  tlie  chase  ;  his  eagerness 
never  gets  just  the  sharpness  of  edge  which  imparts  to 
the  pleasure  its  highest  zest.      Here  comes  into  view 
what  we  may  call  the  fundamental  paradox  of  Hedon- 
ism,  that  the  impulse   towards   pleasure,   if  too  pre- 
dominant,   defeats  its   own    aim.     This  effect    is    not 
visible,  or  at  any  rate  is  scarcely  visible,  in  the  case  of 
passive  sensual  pleasures.      But  of  our  active   enjoy- 
ments generally  ....   it  may   certainly  be  said  that 


1  See  the  Note  at  the  end  of  this  chapter. 


§8.] 


MOTIVE  AND   INTENTION. 


71 


we  cannot  attain  them,  at  least  in  their  highest  degree, 
so    long    as    we    concentrate     our    aim    on    them. 
"Similarly,   the  pleasures  of  thought  and  study  can 
onlv  be  enjoyed  in  the  highest  degree  by  those  who 
have  an   ardour  of  curiosity  which  carries  the  mnid 
temporarily  away  from  self  and  its  sensations.     In  all 
kinds  of  Art,  again,  the  exercise  of  the  creative  faculty 
is  attended  by  intense  and  exquisite  pleasures  ;  but  m 
order   to   get   them,    one    must    forget    them.        Ihis 
-paradox  of  Hedonism,"  that  in  order  to  get  pleasure 
it  is  necessary  to  seek  something  else,  was  to  some 
extent  recognized  even  by  Mill  ;  but  he  does  not  seem 
to  have  perceived  that  it  is  inconsistent  with  the  view 
that    desire    is    always    directed    towards     pleasure 
Desire  can  evidently  be,  at  least  temporarily,  directed 
not  towards  pleasure,  but  towards  certain   objective 

ends.  „  ■      J     o  / 

8  8    The  Object  of  Desire.      (2)  Wants  prior  to  Sat- 
isfactions.—\^<i  must  next  notice  another  point,  which 
was  brought  out  chiefly  by  Butler  ■  and  Hutcheson, 
though  some  subsequent  writers  have  ignored  it-r'/^. 
that  many  kinds  of  pleasure  would  not  exist  at  all,  it 
they  were  not  preceded  by  certain  desires  for  objects 
Take,  for  instance,  the  pleasures  of  the  benevolent  af- 
fections.    No  one  could  possibly  feel  these  pleasures 
unless  he  were  first  benevolent-^,  e.  had  a  desire  for 
the  welfare  of  others.     In  such  a  case,  therefore,  the 
very  existence  of  the  pleasure  depends  on  the  fact  that 
desire  is  first  directed  towards  something  other  than 
pleasure.     It  might  even  be  argued  that  this  is  the  case 
1  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  p.  192  ;  and  cf.  G^e^ns  edition 
of  Hume,  vol,  ii..  Introd..  p.  26.  Green's  Prolegoweua  to  Etincs.  §  161, 
p.  167,  Caird's  Critical  Philosothy  oj  Kant.  vol.  11.,  p.  230,  note. 


72 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  T.,  CH.  II. 


with  all  pleasures.  Pleasure  ensues  upon  the  satisfac- 
tion of  certain  wants,  and  the  wants  must  be  prior  to 
the  satisfactions.  We  have  a  "disinterested"  desire 
for  food,  before  we  can  have  a  desire  for  the  pleasure 
that  accompanies  the  taking  of  food.  From  this  con- 
sideration also  it  appears  that  there  are  some  desires 
which  are  not  desires  for  pleasure. 

§  9.  The  Object  of  Desire.  {3)  Pleasures  and  Plea- 
sure. At  the  same  time  it  must  be  allowed  that  there 
is  a  certain  plausibility  in  Mill's  statements,  and  we 
must  endeavour  to  account  for  this  plausibility.  It 
seems  to  arise  from  an  ambiguity  '  in  the  word  'plea- 
sure." Pleasure  is  sometimes  understood  to  mean 
agreeable  feeling,  or  the  feeling  of  satisfaction,  and 
sometimes  it  is  understood  to  mean  an  object  that  gives 
satisfaction.  The  hearing  of  music  is  sometimes  said 
to  be  a  pleasure  :  but  of  course  the  hearing  of  music  is 
not  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  ;  it  is  an  object  that  gives 
satisfaction.  Generally  it  may  be  observed  that  when 
we  speak  of '■  pleasures"  in  the  plural,  or  rather  in 
the  concrete,  we  mean  objects  that  give  satisfaction  ; 
whereas  when  we  speak  of  * '  pleasure  "  in  the  abstract 
we  more  often  mean  the  feeling  of  satisfaction  which 
such  objects  bring  with  them.^     But  this  is  not  always 

the  case.  • 

Perhaps  this  distinction  is  more  obvious  in  the  case 
of  pain  than  in  the  case  of  pleasure.  Pain  is  generally 
understood  as  the  negative  of  pleasure,  /.  e.  as  meaning 
disagreeable  feeling,  or  feeling  of  dissatisfaction.      But 

1  A  second  ambiguity.     Another   ambiguity,  pointed  out   by  Dr. 
Sidgwick,  has  been  already  referred  to  above. 

2  Cf.  Dr.  Ward's  article  on    '*  Psychology "    in  the  Encyclopceiiia 
Britannica,  p.  71. 


§9-] 


MOTIVE   AND   INTENTION. 


73 


When  we  speak  of  "pa.ns"  we  usually  mean  objects 
that  produce  a  disagreeable  feeling;    and  mdeed  we 
usually  mean  objects  of  a  definite  kind-m.  organic 
sensations.     The  pain  of  toothache,  for  instance,  is  not 
merely  a  feeling  of  disagreeableness  or  dissatisfaction 
but  a  definite  sensation.     That  sensation  is  an  object 
and  it  is  an  object  which   brings  with  ,t  a  feeling  o 
disagreeableness.     The  sensation  of  burning  is  ano  her 
oSect ;   the  sensation  of  a  stunning  blow  is  another 
Ob  ect     the  consciousness  of  having  -ted  wrongly  - 
another  object.     All  these  objects  bring  with  them  a 
dLgreeable  feeling ;   but  in  all  of  them  the  object 
which  brings  the  disagreeable  feeling    or  is  accom- 
panied by  the  disagreeable  feeling,  is  quite  d.singuish- 
able  from  the  feeling  of  disagreeableness  itself^ 

Now  when  it  is  said  that  what  we  desire  is  always 
pleasure,  what  seems  to  be  meant  is  that  -ha  we  de- 
sire is  always  some  object  the  attainment  of  .  hich  is 
accompanied  by  an  agreeable  feeling.     But    h.s  o 

true  that  it  is  almost  a  tautology.  It  is  clear  that  if  ue 
desire  anything,  the  attainment  of  it  will  bnng  at  least 
a  temporary  satisfaction  ;  and  this  satisfaction  will  be 
accompanied  by  a  feeling  of  satisfaction-,,  e.  pleasure^ 
Consequently,  anything  that  we  desire  may  be  said  to 
be  a  pleasure-/,  e.  something  that  will  bring  pleasure 
when  attained.     The  man  who  desires  the  overthrow 

iKUlpe  and  Titchener  (O.Uine  ofPsycholoiy)^^  honourably 
distinguished  among  psychologists  l^^  '^^^a  Jto  s       o'^g-nTc 

s::::eii  ^^^  ^TL^  ;r;nnsTp*::r  r^ 


74 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


of  a  political  party,  for  instance,  will  be  pleased  if  that 
event  happens.     We  may  consequently  say  that  the 
overthrow  of  the  party  was  a  pleasure.      It  is  in  this 
sense  that  we  use  the  phrase  ' '  an  unexpected  pleasure, " 
and  the  like.      But  evidently  the  overthrow  of  a  politi- 
cal party  is  not  itself  an   agreeable  feeling  ;    it  only 
brings  an  agreeable  feeling  with  it.      The  fact  that  we 
desire  pleasures  is  no  evidence  that  we  desire  pleasure. 
A  passage  from  Mill  may  help  to  make  this  clear. 
''What,  for  example,"  he  asks,'  ''shall  we  say  of  the 
love  of  money  ?     There  is  nothing  originally  more  de- 
sirable about  money  than  about  any  heap  of  glittering 
pebbles.     Its  worth  is  solely  that  of  the  things  which 
it  will  buy  ;    the  desires  for  other  things   than    itself, 
which   it  is   a  means   of  gratifying.      Yet  the  love  of 
money  is  not  only  one  of  the  strongest  moving  forces 
of  human  life,  but  money  is,  in  many  cases,  desired  in 
and  for  itself;  the  desire  to  possess  it  is  often  stronger 
than  the  desire  to  use  it,  and  goes  on  increasing  when 
all  the  desires  which  point  to  ends  beyond  it,  to  be 
compassed  by  it,  are  falling  off.      It  may  be  then  said 
truly,  that  money  is  desired  not  for  the  sake  of  an  end, 
but  as  part  of  the  end.      From  being  a  means  to  happi- 
ness, it  has  come  to  be  itself  a  principal  ingredient  of 
the  individual's  conception   of  happiness.      The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  majority  of  the  great  objects  of 
human  life — power,   for  example,   or  fame.   .   .   .   The 
strongest  attraction,  both  of  power  and  of  fame,  is  the 
immense  aid  they  give  to  the  attainment  of  our  other 
wishes  ;  and  it  is  the  strong  association  thus  generated 
between  them  and  all  our  objects  of  desire,  which  gives 


1  i'tilitariaiiisni,  chap.  iv. 


lO.]  MOTIVE   AND   INTENTION. 


75 


to  the  direct  desire  of  them  the  intensity  it  often  as- 
sumes, so  as  in  some  characters  to  surpass  in  strength 
all  other  desires.     In  these  cases  the  means  have  be- 
come a  part  of  the  end,  and  a  more  important  part  of 
it  than  any -of  the  things   which  they  are  means  to. 
What  was  once  desired  as  an  instrument  ^or  the  attam- 
ment  of  happiness,  has  come  to  be  desired  for  its  o^^n 
Take      In  being  desired  for  its  own  sake  it  is,  however, 
desired  as  ^  J  of  happiness.   .   .   •     The  desire  of  it  is 
not  a  different  thing  from  the  desire  ^^^-PP^7^^^;^^;i>^ 
more  than  the  love  of  music,  or  the  desire  of  healthy 
They  are  included  in  happiness.     They  are  some  of  the 
elements  of  which  the  desire  of  happiness  is  made  up. 
Happiness   is   not   an    abstract   i^-,    but  a  concr^^^^ 
whole  ;  and  these  are  some  of  its  parts.       The  mean- 
ing  of  all  this  seems  quite  clear.     Evidently  money, 
power,  fame,  music,  and  health  are  not  parts  of  agree- 
able feeling.      What  Mill  means  is  that  they  are  parts 
of  that  totality  of  objects  which  gives  agreeable  fee  ing 
That  we  desire  such  objects,  then,  may  show  that  we 
seek  pleasures,   but  not  that  we  seek  pleasure.     And 
that  we  seek  pleasures  is  a  mere  tautology.     It  means 
simply  that  we  seek  what  we  seek      // 

SIO    Can    Reason  serve  as  a  Motive  .?-Even  those 
writers  who  have  not  committed  themselves  to  the  view 
that  pleasure  and  pain  are  the  only  possible  motives 
have  sometimes  been  inclined  to  argue  that  at   east 
Reason  is  not  capable  of  serving  as  a  motive  to  action 
This  view  was  most  clearly  stated  by  Hume,  when  he 
said^  that  -Reason  is,  and  ought  only  to  be,  the  slave 
of  the  passions,  and  can  never  pretend  to  any  other 
1  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Book  II.,  Part  III..  Section  III.    Cf. 
also  Dissertation  on  the  Passions,  Section  V. 


76 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


§12.] 


MOTIVE   AND   INTENTION. 


11 


office  than  to  serve  and  obey  them."     The  term   Pas- 
sion, as  here  used,  is  practically  synonymous  with  Im- 
pulse  ;  and  the  meaning  of  the  statement    is  that  all 
actions  depend   on  particular  impulses,  while  reason 
can  at  the  most  only  indicate  the  means  by  which  these 
impulses  may   be  gratified.      Reason,  it  is  thus  held, 
cannot  form  any  new  motive  for  us  :  it  can  only  show 
how  an  existing   motive  may  be   pursued  to  the  best 
advantage.     This  view,  however,  seems  to  rest  on  that 
false  conception  of  the  nature  of  desire  to  which  reference 
has  already  been  made.     It  proceeds  on  the  supposi- 
tion that  our  mental  constitution  is  made  up  of  a  num- 
ber of  isolated  and  independent  desires,  among  which 
reason  works  as  a  separate  faculty.      If  we  recognise 
that  our  desires  form  a  universe,  then   they  cannot  be 
said  to  exist  independently.     The  problem  then  is  to 
understand  the  nature  of  the  whole  within  which  par- 
ticular desires  emerge.      If  that  whole  is  a  rational  sys- 
tem, the  desires  which  grow  up  in  it  will  be  very  dif- 
ferent from  those  desires  that  might  exist  in   a  being 
in  whom  reason  is  not  yet  developed.      In  this  sense, 
therefore,  reason  may  be  said  not  only  to  guide  our 
desires,  impulses,   or  passions,  but  actually  to  consti- 
tute their  determinate  nature.     Reason,  that  is  to  say, 
may  set  before  us  ends  or  motives  which  for  an  irra- 
tional being   would  not  exist  at  all.       In  this  sense, 
then,  reason   is  capable  of  furnishing  us  with  motives 
to  action. 

§  11.  Is  Reason  the  only  Motive  .? — There  is,  how- 
ever, an  error  of  an  opposite  kind  against  which  also 
we  must  be  on  our  guard,  though  no  doubt  it  is  one 
into  which,  in  modern  times,  we  are  in  much  less  dan- 
ger of  falling.     We  must  not  suppose  that  all  motives 


Ivo- 


are  rational  motives,  i.  e.    that  the  inducerBent  to  act 
ralwaysfor  a  human  being  what  it  would  be  .fhe 
were  guided  entirely  by  reason.     This  v.ew  may  be 
Tetter  understood  by  a  reference   to  the  doctnne  of 
derates.     Socrates  maintained  that  '' v.rtue  as  know 
ledge."by  which  he  meant  that  if  we  knew  with  perfect 
SrnessUat  the  nature  of  the  moral  end  :s  we  ^ou^^^^ 
inevitably  pursue  it.     Now   it  .s  no  doubt  true  tha 
:;Uhin  a  completely  rational  universe  the  -preme  good 
would  serve  as  the  supreme  inducement.     But  i   it  is 
possible   that   a   man    may  know   the   -  "-   °Mh 
supreme  good  and  yet  not  occupy  a  completely  rationa 
;^verse 'then  it  is  possible  to  k"ow  the  good  and  no 
to  pursue  it.     Now  it  seems  clear  at  least  that  it  is  pos 
s^bHo  know  -vhat  is  good  with  a  very  tolerable  degree 
of  dearness.  and  yet  not  pursue  it.     This  is  expressed 
Tn   hefamilar  saying,    "Video  meliora  proboque,  de- 
terlora  sequor."     The  reason  of  this  i,  that  the  motive 
to  action  is  not  always  completely  rationah 

R12     How     MfTIVES    ARE    CONSTITUTED. -The    COnClu- 

sion,  therefore,  to  which  we  are  led  is  that  motives  are 
neither  constituted  simply  by  pleasure  and  pain   nor 
simply  by  dominant  desires,  passions,  oriinpulses,  nor 
s  mply   by   reason,    but  that  they   depend   upon  the 
natJreof  the  universe  within  which  they  emerge.     ^ 
motive,  we  may  say  generally,  is  an  end  which  is   » 
harmony  or  conformity  with  the  un-verse  withi    wh^h 
it  is  presented.     At  any  given  moment  m  our  lives 
there  are  various  possible  ends  which  we  may  set  be- 
fore ourselves.     There  are  various  ways  in  which  the 
content  of  our  world  might  be  changed,  so  as  to  be 
more  in  harmony  with  the  system  of  our  conscious- 
ness     Now,  in  so  far  as  any  such  change  presents  itself 


\ 


78 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


to  us  lis  something  which  could  be  brought  about  by 
our  own  activity,  it  presents  itself  to  us  as  a  possible 
motive  to  action.  Whether  it  will  actually  move  us  to 
act  depends  on  the  question  whether  the  motive  pre- 
sented to  us  is  compatible  with  other  possible  motives 
which  are  presented  to  us  at  the  same  time.  The 
line  of  action  that  is  finally  willed  by  us  is  that  which 
coheres  most  perfectly  with  the  general  system  of  our 
consciousness.  Whether  or  not  the  line  thus  adopted 
is  a  reasonable  line  depends  on  the  question  whether 
or  not  we  are  living  within  a  rational  universe. ' 

At  this  point,  however,  we  come  definitely  upon  the 
question  with  respect  to  the  relationship  between  Char- 
acter and  Conduct  ;  and  as  this  is  a  question  of  great 
importance,  it  seems  to  require  a  separate  chapter. 

'  In  connection  with  this  point,  reference  may  be  profitably  made 
to  Dr.  Sidgwick's  article  on  "Unreasonable  Action"  (Mind,  New 
Series,  No.  6),  and  to  Mr.  Stout's  Analytic  Psychology,  Vol.  II.,  p.  267. 
See  also  Bosanquet's  Psychology  of  the  Moral  Self  Lecture  IX. 


I 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


79 


Note  on  Pleasure  and  Desire. 

A  in  thi*  r.haoter  that  a  satisfied  desire  brings  pleasure, 
U  >s  assumed  nth^schaptotha  ^^^.^^^^  appetite)  is  accom- 

uh.le  an  ""»='"»'^f^.^^^be  observed,  however,  that  this  ,s  a  pent 

^''^^^rTthreis^mirerTo^iir"^^^^^^ 

""  "  ned    the  P^e.tre   of  Pursuit"    It  is  held  by  some  writers,  and 
"■^'hW  bv  Professor  Sgwick.  that,  in  consequence  of  the  existence 

to  add  a  et:  words  on  this  point.  Prof essor  Sidgw.cU^s  v.e w  .s 
huf  s'afed'^in  the  Uc,.,.  0^^.:.  f^^^;^^^^^ 
..  When  a  desire  is  havmg  '  ^  "^t^^' f  f  "j  "en"  o  be  commonly 
which  tend  to  the  -"»>"'"'^"' '^j^f  °''^^„'  3b,reonsciousness  :  even 
either  a  neutral  or  a  more  or  less  Pl<=™''=^°         consciousness 

when  this  att-i"-"' '^.  t  hiH:  re  it  an  Lsentlalitem,  is  highly 
of  eager  activity  m  ^^K^hm'^i^^, re  which  we  may  call  generally 
pleasurable  :  a"^-^^,''^';';^  a  considerable  element  in  the 
the  pleasures  «' J";""'',™  jt  is  almost  a  commonplace  to  say 
total  enjoyment  of  hfe.  '"^eed  "  ^  ^, ..gures  of  Attainment :  and 
that  they  are  more  -P°;^  "^^^  Vh^folm  ^-ther  than  of  the  latter 
in  many  cases  it  is  the  P-^of  P^*"' °"  ;,  „  ^  j  Relieve  that  this  anti- 
that  induces  us  to  engage  m  a  P;-^^-^,,^  ,.\„,„i,,3  ,  fundamental 

thesisbetween  ; P"'-  ^^^^"^-^^  T^oZoi considerable  importance 

misconception,  and  it  seembio  me  lu 

that  this  misconception  should  be  remov  d    There  >^^°*- 

can  see,  no  such  thing  as  »  P'^^^^^^^f  P^^^  ^^^^^ere  are  two  kincTs 
nient.    The  truth  appears  to  me  to  be^rathrthat^^  ^^^ 

of  attainment-what  "'S^'  ''^  "^^'^^./of^  is,  I  think,  in 

c<,/«s(roM'<:  attainment.  The  P'f  ^"^  °' j:  when  it  was  said, 
reahty  the  pleasure  of  progressive  ^^fwo^M  let  it  go  again  for 
for  instance,  "If  I  ^eW J  uth  in  my  n  ,  i„,g„d^d  seems  to  have 
Ihe  pleasure  of  tvrsuwg  il.    what  was  reauy  .  ,  ,,  .   ^  jj^j   jg 

been  the  tlcLr^^fJroSress^^ 

may  be  referred  to  Mind,  New  Series,  vol.  i.,  No.  i  (Jan.  1892),  PP. 

94-101. 


1 


MOTIVE   AND    INTENTION. 


8i 


80 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


the  case  also  with  those  pleasures  that  are  referred  to  b}'  Professor 
Sidgwick  as  "  pleasures  of  Pursuit."     He  takes  the  case,  for  instance, 
of  a  game  of  skill.     "  No  ordinary  player,  before  entering  on  such  a 
contest,  has  any  desire  for  victory  in  it  :  indeed  he  often  finds  it 
difficult  to  imagine  himself  deriving  gratification  from  such  victory, 
before  he  has  actually  engaged  in  the  competition.    What  he  delib- 
erately, before  the  game  begins,  desires  is  not  victory,  but  the  pleas- 
ant excitement  of  the  struggle  for  it ;  only  for  the  full  development 
of  this  pleasure  a  transient  desire  to  win  the  game  is  generally  in- 
dispensable.   This  desire,  which  does  not  exist  at  first,  is  stimulated 
to  considerable  intensity  by  the  competition  itself :  and  in  proportion 
as  it  is  thus  stimulated  both  the  mere  contest  becomes  more  pleasur- 
able, and  the  victory,  which  was  originally  indifferent,  comes  to 
afford  a  keen  enjoyment."    With  the  whole  of  this  passage  I  agree, 
with  the  single  exception  of  the  statement  that  the  contest  becomes 
more  pleasurable  in  proportion  as  the  desire  to  win  the  game  is 
stimulated.     On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  may  distinguish 
between  two  kinds  of  desire  to  win  the  game— 772^.  the  desire  to  win 
it  simply  as  a  catastrophic  result,  and  the  desire  to  win  it  as  the  cul- 
minating point  in  a  continuous  process.     In  proportion  as  the  former 
kind  of  desire  is  stimulated,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  game  ceases 
to  be  pleasurable.     It  is,  I  believe,  a  common  experience  that  the 
gambler  whose  aim  is  fixed  exclusively  on  the  result  of  the  game 
ceases  to  get  any  real  pleasure  from  it.    The  man  who  really  enjovs 
the  game  is  he  who  desires  victory,  but  desires  it  only  as  the  culmi- 
nating  point  in  a  progressive  series.    And  the  same  applies  in  other 
cases.    The  mountaineer  who  merely  wishes  to  reach  the  topmost 
peak,  i?  simply  annoyed  by  the  process  of  climbing  up  :  he  would 
prefer  to  reach  it  by  a  balloon  or  by  a  hydraulic  hoist    The  man 
who  enjoys  the  ascent  is  the  one  who  desires  the  end  only  in  so  far 
as  it  gives  unity  and  completeness  to  the  process  of  attaining  it.     So 
also  the  man  who  is  merely  interested  in  the  conclusion  of  a  story 
does  not  enjoy  the  novel  in  which  it  is  told  :  his  view  is  rather  like 
that  of  Christopher   Sly— "Tis  a  very  excellent  piece  of  work- 
would  'twere  done  !  "    The  man  who  really  enjoys  the  story  cares 
for  the  end  only  in  relation  to  the  process  that  leads  up  to  it.    Now 
the  man  who  desires  an  end  in  relation  to  the  process  of  reaching 
it,  is  not,  I  think,  correctly  described  as  receiving  pleasure  from  a 
pursuit,  as  distinguished  from  an  attainment.    The  pursuit  is,  for 
him,  a  progressive  attainment.     From  the  nature  of  the  case,  he 
could  not  attain  otherwise  than  by  pursuit.    A  story,  for  instance, 
does  not  admit  of  any  kind  of  attainment  but  that  of  going  through 


1 


it  from  beginning  to  end.  In  such  a  process  the  desire  receives  a 
continuous  satisfaction,  and  is  not  properly  regarded  as  waitmg  for 
its  satisfaction  till  the  end  is  reached.  s 

I  conceive  that  this  view  may  be  applied  even  to  such  a  case  as 
that  of  hunger.     It  seems  to  me,  indeed,  to  be  somewhat  mcorrect 
to  speak  of  the  mere  appetite  of  hunger  as  desire.    Hunger  ongU,  I 
think,  to  be  sharply  distinguished  from  the  desire  for  food.    It  seems 
to  me  to  be  mainlv  owing  to  the  failure  to  draw  this  distmction  that 
hunger  is  represented  by  Professor  Sidgwick  as  forming  an  excep- 
tion 1  to  the  general  rule  about  the  ''Paradox  of  Hedonism.   2    It 
forms  an  exception,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  only  because  it  is  not  a  desire 
at  all     This,  however,  is  a  side  issue,  on  which  I  do  not  wish  to 
insist  at  present.    The  craving  of  hunger,  though  not  properly  a 
desire,  seems  to  resemble  certain  of  our  desires  in  being  susceptible 
of  a  progressive  satisfaction  :  and  it  is  for  this  reason,  as  I  conceive, 
that  the  craving  appears  often  to  be  pleasurable.    It  is  pleasurable 
because  it  is  continuously  attaining  its  object.    As  far  as  I  can  judge, 
indeed,  the  satisfaction  of  hunger  begins,  under  normal  conditions, 
even  prior  to  the  taking  of  food  at  all.    The  "  watering  of  the  mouth 
is  I  think,  a  commencement  of  satisfaction  ;  and  in  the  case  of  pre- 
datory animals  I  suspect  that  there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  even  in 
the  act  of  pursuit.8    At  any  rate,  the  normal  act  of  satisfying  hunger 
does  not  appear  to  be  of  a  catastrophic  character.    Ducerecaenam  is 
a  principle  of  general  applicability.    The  satisfaction  of  the  craving 
is  a  progressive  one.    Now,  if  this  is  the  case,  it  seems  clear  that  the 
mere  fact  that  hunger  is,  under  normal  conditions,  rather  pleasur- 
able  than  otherwise  (which  I  believe  to  be  true),  cannot  be  accepted 
as  a  proof  that  the  mere  craving  in  itself  is  pleasurable,  or  is  not 
painful,  in  so  far  as  it  remains  unsatisfied.    For  under  normal  con- 
ditions  it  is  not  unsatisfied,  but  is  progressively  attaining  its  end. 

There  is  another  point,  closely  connected  with  this  one,  which  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be  overlooked  by  Professor  Sidgwick  in  his  discus- 
sion on  the  above  subject-z7>.  that  our  desires  and  appetites  are 
capable,  to  a  considerable  extent,  of  an  imaginative  satisfaction. 

1  See  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chap,  iv.,  §  2,  p.  49  •  "  This  effect " 
\yiz  that  we  lose  pleasure  by  seeking  it]  "  is  not  visible,  or  at  any 
rate  is  scarcely  visible,  in  the  case  of  passive  sensual  pleasures. ' 

2  See  above,  §  7.  ,  ^^   , 

8  It  is  only  in  this  sense,  I  think,  that  there  is  any  real    pleasure 

of  pursuit." 
*  See  also  Spencer's  Data  of  Ethics,  pp.  15^158. 

Eth.  6 


82 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  II. 


Dickens's  "  Marchioness "  did  not  by  any  means  stand  alone  in  the 
power  of  "  makinj^-beHeve  very  much."    If  it  is  true  that 

*'  Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths  ; 
The  vaHant  never  taste  of  death  but  once," 

it  may  also  be  said  that  the  imaginative  satisfy  their  desires  many 
times  before  they  are  satisfied  in  fact,  while  the  unimaginative  have 
but  a  single  satisfaction.  The  imaginative  player,  even  if  he  loses, 
loses  but  once  for  a  score  of  times  that  he  has  won — in  fancy  ;  and 
these  imaginary  successes  may  be  quite  as  satisfying  to  his  mind  at 
the  moment  as  an  equal  number  of  real  ones  would  have  been.  The 
"  pleasures  of  Pursuit "  are  to  a  large  extent  made'up  of  these :  ental 
victories;  and  this  fact  must  largely  qualify  our  view  of  them  as 
cases  of  unsatisfied  desire,  even  apart  from  the  consideration  (which 
may  not  be  always  applicable)  that  the  desire  is  in  reality  attaining 
its  end  by  means  of  a  continuous  process. 

I  make  these  remarks  merely  with  the  view  of  bringing  out  the 
point  of  view  which  seems  to  me  correct,  and  which  I  have  adopted 
in  the  present  handbook.  They  are  not  by  any  means  offered  with 
the  view  of  giving  a  complete  solution  to  the  ditficult  question 
involved.! 

1  Students  interested  in  the  subject  of  pleasures  of  Pursuit  will  find 
further  discussion  and  admirable  illustrations  in  Tucker's  Light  of 
Nature,  chap.  vi. 


§1.] 


CHARACTER  AND   CONDUCT. 


83 


CHAPTER  III. 


CHARACTER    AND    CONDUCT. 

§  1.  General    Remarks.     We    now    understand,    in 
some*  degree,   what  is  meant  by  Will,  Desire,   Motive, 
Intention,  and  what  is  the  nature  o^ie  relationship 
between  these ;  and  we  are  now  pv^med  to  consider 
the  nature  of  Character  and  it    ^^ion  to  Conduct. 
In  discussing  this,  we  are  natural^  led  to  the  famous 
question  about  the  Freedom  of  We  Will ;  for  this  con- 
cerns the  relationship  between  Character  and  Conduct. 
And  in  considering  this,  it  seems  necessary  also  to  ex- 
plain the  terms  Circumstance  and  Habit.     Accordingly 
I  intend  first  to  present  four   sections,  dealing  respec- 
tively   with    Character,    Conduct,  Circumstance,   and 
Habit,  then  to  explain  the  significance  of  the  Freedom^ 
of  the  Will,  and  finally  to  sum  up  about  the  nature^" 
Voluntary  Action. 

§  2.  Character.     We  have  seen  that^    ^^ 
the  complete  universo. or  system  constii^.TT^  ->y_.acts    > 
of  wilT  of  a  particular  kind.     Character  is  on  the  whole 
the  most  important  element  in   life  from  the  point  of 
view  'of  Ethics,  as   we  shall   see  more   fully  in   the 

sequel. 

The  accidental  dominance  of  a  good  purpose  at  this 
or  that  moment  is  of  comparatively  little  consequence 
unless  it  is  an  indication  of  the  habitual  dominance  of 


84 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  III. 


§4-] 


CHARACTER  AND   CONDUCT. 


85 


a  certain  universe.  Hence  Aristotle  rightly  laid  em- 
phasis rather  on  the  formation  of  Good  Habit' — i.  e., 
in  the  language  we  have  here  adopted,  on  the  establish- 
ment of  a  continuously  dominant  universe — than  on 
the  mere  presence  of  a  Good  Will  at  any  given  mo- 
ment. Will  is,  indeed,  the  expression  of  character, 
but  it  is  the  expression  of  it  under  the  limitations  of 
a  particular  time  and  place  ;  and  much  may  remain 
latent  in  the  character  which  it  would  be  necessary  to 
take  into  account  in  forming  a  complete  moral  estimate 
of  a  given  individual.  This  is  well  expressed  in  Brown- 
ing's Rabbi  Ben  Ezra — 

"  Not  on  the  vulgar  mass 
Called  '  work '  must  sentence  pass, 
Things  done,  that  took  the  eye  and  had  the  price  ; 


But  all,  the  world's  coarse  thumb 

And  finger  failed  to  plumb, 
So  passed  in  making  up  the  main  account ; 

All  instincts  immature. 

All  purposes  unsure, 
That  weighed  not  as  his  work,  yet  swelled  the  man's  amount. 

Thoughts  hardly  to  be  packed 

Into  a  narrow  act. 
Fancies  that  broke  through  language  and  escaped  : 

All  I  could  never  be, 

All,  men  ignored  in  me. 

This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped." 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  true  that  "the  tree  is  known 
by  its  fruit."  The  good  character  necessarily  expresses 
itself  in  good  acts  of  will. 

§  3.  Conduct.     The  term  conduct  is  sometimes  used 

1  Ethics,  Book  II.  chap.  v. 


1 


in  a  loose  sense  to  include  all  sorts  of  vital  activities, 
\  or  at  any  rate  all  vital  activities  which  are  directed  to 
an  end.  It  is  in  this  sense,  for  instance,  that  the  term 
is  employed  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer.'  Consequently 
he  speaks  of  the  conduct  of  molluscs,  &c.^  But  this 
seems  to  be  an  inconvenient  extension  of  the  meaning 
of  the  term.  Although  the  activities  of  molluscs  are 
no  doubt  adjusted  to  an  end,  yet  we  cannot  regard 
them  as  purposeful  activities.  A  purposeful  activity 
is  not  merely  directed  to  an  end,  but,  as  Kant  put  it, 
directed  by  the  idea  of  an  end.  Now  even  the  higher 
animals, in  so  far  as  they  are  guided  by  mere  instinct,^ 
cannot  be  supposed  to  have  any  such  idea.  They 
move  towards  certain  ends,  but  they  do  not  will  these 
ends.  They  have  an  end,  but  they  have  no  purpose.^ 
Now  Mr.  Spencer  admits  that  purposeless  acts  are  not 
to  be  included  in  conduct.  Hence  it  seems  best  to 
contine  the  term  conduct  to  those  acts_that^are_  not 
merely  adjusted  to  ends,  but  also  definitely  willed^  A^ 
person's  conduct,  then,  is  the  complete  system  ofsui^ 
acts,  corresponding  to  his  ch^acter. 

§  4.  CIRCUMSTANCE.^^^Ve  have  said  that  conduct  cor- 
responds to  character.  But  of  course  the  particular 
acts  which  are  performed  by  an  individual  depend  not 
only  on  the  nature  of  the  systematic  unity  of  his  con- 

1  Data  of  Ethics,  chap.  i.  2  jhid.,  chap.  ii. 

8  It  may  w^ell  be  doubted  whether  they  ever  have  such  an  idea. 
Darwin,  however,  who  is  certainly  a  high  authority,  seems  disposed 
to  attribute  some  consciousness  of  the  adaptation  of  means  to  end 
even  to  such  very  humble  creatures  as  earthworms. 

*  It  might  be  convenient  to  use  the  term  purposive,  as  distinguished 
from  purposeful,  to  denote  action  (such  as  instinctive  movements) 
in  which  an  end  may  be  seen  to  be  involved,  but  in  which  there  is 
no  definite  consciousness  of  the  end  aimed  at. 


86 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  in. 


sciousness.  but  also  on  the  conditions  or  env.ronmen 
within  which  his  life  happens  to  be  passed.      Hence  it 
is  sometimes  said  that  a  man's  conduct  depends  upon 
his  character  and  circumstances.     We  must  now  con- 
sider what  exactly   is  to  be  understood  by  c.rcum- 

stances.  ,    .    .r  ♦^ 

In  the  first  place,  we  must  note  that,  if  we  are  to 
understand  the  ethical  significance  of  a  man  s  circum- 
stances, we  must  clear  our  minds  of  that  view  accord- 
incr  to  which  circumstances  are  simply  the  external 
environment  in  which  a  man's  life  is  passed.     Under- 
stood in  this  sense,  any  contemporary  event  might  be 
called  a  circumstance^.,  g.  the  position  of  the  planets, 
the  state  of  the  tides,  the  direction  of  the  wind,  &c. 
But  for  most  purposes  (unless  we  are  believers  in  Astro- 
logy)  such  conditions  are  not  to  be  classed  as  circum- 
stances  at  all.     Again,  the  geological  formation  of  the 
country  in  which  a  man  lives  is  seldom  worth  reckon- 
ing as  a  circumstance  ;  though   the  presence  of  gold 
or  coal  or  iron  may  be  a  circumstance  of  considerable 
importance.     Riches  or  poverty,  health  or  disease,  are 
generally  circumstances  of  more  importance  ;  and  so 
are,   in  general,   a  man  s  social  surroundings.     From 
such  considerations  as  this  we  may  see  that  it  is  not 
so  easy  as  it  might  at  first  appear  to  determine  what  a 
man's  circumstances  are,  in  any  sense  that  is  ethically 
significant.     Circumstances  in  this  sense  are  not  any- 
thing external  to  the  man,  but  only  external  conditions 
in  so  far  as  they  enter  into  his  life.     What  are  to  be   I 
reckoned  circumstances  in  this  sense,  is  a  question  that 
depends  on  the  character  of  the  man.    Hence  it  is  some- 
what misleading  to  speak  as  if  character  and  circum- 
stance were   two   co-ordinate   factors  in  human  life ; 


§4.] 


CHARACTER  AND   CONDUCT. 


87 


since  it  depends  largely  on  character  whether  anything 
is  to  be  reckoned  a  circumstance  or  not.* 

Again,  are  we  to  say  that  the  fact  that   a  man  has 
a  good  memory,  or  a  good  temper,    or  a  good  under- 
standing, or  a  good  reputation,  is  an  element  in   his 
character  or  in  his  circumstance  .?     Such  facts  depend 
largely  on  the  systematic  constitution  of  a  man's  con- 
scious life,  and  so  belong  to  his  character  ;  yet,  on  the 
other    hand,  they  may  be  regarded  as  circumstances  \ 
by  which  he  is  helped  or  hindered  in  the  conduct  of  his  | 
life.      Even  the  fact  that  a  man  has  already  formed  a 
good  habit  of  action— say,  a  habit  of  punctuality— may 
be  a  favourable  circumstance  with  reference  to  his  future 
development.     Thus  it  is  to  a  considerable  extent  a  ' 
question  of  the  point   of  view  from  which   a  thing  is 
regarded,  whether  it  is  to  be  described  as  an  element  j 
of  character  or  of  circumstance.     Probably  by  far  the 
greatest   part   of  any    man's  present  circumstance  is 
simply  the  expression  of  what  his  past  character  has 

been. 

Hence,  when  we  say  that  a  man's  actions  are  the 
result  of  liis  character  and  his  circumstance,  we  must 
remember  that  two  men  living  to  all  appearance  m  the 
same  general  conditions  may  in  reality  be  in  wholly 
different  circumstances.  What  stimulates  one  may 
depress  another,  just  as  -the  twilight  that  sends  the 
hens  to  roost  sets  the  fox  to  prowl,  and  the  lion  s  roar 
which  gathers  the  jackals  scatters  the  sheep."  ^     What 

1  Some  suggestive  remarks  on  this  point  will  be  found  in^  paper 
on  "  Character  and  the  Emotions,"  by  Mr.  A.  F.  Shand,  m  M'«^.  "^w 
series  Vol  v  No  18.  The  relationship  between  character  and  cir- 
cumstance has  also  been  brought  out,  in  a  profound  and  suggestive 
way,  by  Mr.  Bosanquet,  in  Aspects  of  the  Social  Problem. 

2  Art  "  Psychology"  in  Eiicyclopa'dia  Bntanmca,  p.  42. 


88 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  III. 


is  physically  the  same  is  in  such  cases,  to  all  intents, 
a  different  circumstance. 

§  5.   Habit. — The  significance  of  Habit  has  already 
been  to  some  extent  indicated  in  connection  with  char- 
acter,  and  in  particular  reference  has  been  made  to 
(Aristotle's  view  that  the  main   thing  in   the   moral   life 
is  the   establishment  of  good  habits.      This  view  was 
put  forward  by  Aristotle  in  opposition  to  the  Socratic 
doctrine,  that  Virtue  is  a  kind  of  Knowledge  ; '  yet  the 
two  views  are  not  so  much  opposed  as  might  at  first 
sight  appear.     Virtue  is  a  kind  of  knowledge,  as  well  as 
a  kind   of  habit.      It  is,   in  fact,   as  we  have  already 
indicated,  a  point  of  view.     The  virtuous  man   is  one 
who  lives  continuously  in  the  universe  which  is  con- 
stituted by  duty.     To  live  continuously  in  that  universe 
is   a  habit  ;  but  it  is  at  the  same  time  a  species   of 
insight.     The   man  who   lives  in  a   different  universe 
sees  things  habitually  in   a   different  way — through  a 
differently  coloured  glass,  we  might  say.      To  be  virtu- 
ous, therefore,  is  to  possess  habitually  a  certain  kind 
of  knowledge  or  insight.      And  thus  both  Socrates  and 
Aristotle  were  right.     (Virtue  is  both  a  kind  of  know- 
ledge and  a  kind  of  habit.  1    Habit,  in  fact,  in  the  sense 
in  which  the  term  is  applied  to  moral  character,  is  not 
mere   custom.      It  is  not  on    a  level  with   habits  such 
as  our  manner  of  walking  or  speaking  or  of  wearing 
clothes.      It  is   not,  in   short,  of  the  nature  of  what  is 
commonly  called  a  secondarily  automatic  action.  I  It 
is  a  habit  of  wiUi7ig.\    Habits  which  have  a  moral  signi- 


1  Cy.  Sidgvvick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  24-5  and  54  ;  and,  for  a  fuller 
account  of  the  doctrine  of  Socrates,  see  Zeller's  Socrates  and  the  So- 
cratic Schools,  Part  II.,  chap.  vii. 


§5-1 


CHARACTER   AND   CONDUCT. 


89 


ficance  are  habits  of  deliberate  cho.c..  ■    No-  dehb^ 
-aie"choi^rdi?i«ds  on  thought  or  reason.^     In  order 
^choose  the  right,  in  the  sense  in  which  such  a  cho.ce 
has  any  moral  significance,  we  must  know  the  nght^ 
f  we  simply  hit  on  the  right  course  by  chance,  we  do 
no   really  choose  the  right,  i  Right  wilHng,  therefore 
Zpends'on  true  insight.!  Aether   it  .s  P0ss:ble  to 
have  true  insight  without  willing  r:gh tly  -   ^  f-th- 
question,  which  we  shall  have  to  consider  shortly.     In 
e  n^eantime  we  may  partly  see  what  Socrates  rnean 
by   saying   that  virtue   is  a   kind   of  knowledge.     It 
depenis  on  the  occupation  of  a  certain  pom    of  v.ew 
on  the  possession  of  a  certain  rational  insight.     At  the 
Lme  tLe,  we  see  the  truth  of  Aristot  e's  saying^hat 
virtue  is  habit.     It  is  not  merely  a  certain  act  of  will, 
but  a  continuous  state  of  character,  a  steadfast  occu- 
pation of  a  definite  universe.  . 

Another  point  which  it  is  important  to  notice  m  this 
connection   is   that    action    which   has    thus    become 
habitual  tends  to  be  pleasant.     A  good  ^harac^^  for 
instance,  is  one  whose  dominant  interest  lies  with.n  a 
certain  form  of  moral  universe.     Such  a  character  wi  1 
find  pleasure  in  acting  in  accordance  with  this  interest^ 
Hence  Aristotle  says  again  3  that   "  a  man  is  not  good 
at  all  unless  he  takes  pleasure  in  noble  deeds      No  one 
would  call  a  man  just  who  did  not  take   p  easure  m 
doing  justice,  nor  generous,  who  took  no  pleasure  in 
acts  of  generosity,  and   so  on."     Further,  habit,  as  is 
said,   becomes  a  second  nature  ;  so  that  actions  that 

...  -.s   M» Virtue    then    is    a  habit  of 

l-Ecrriv   ipa   r,    iperi,   e^?   Trpoaiptrcci,    (      Virtue,    Uien, 

choice").— Aristotle's /i^////c6-,  II.  vi.  i>         ,„      , 
2  CY.  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Bcx^k  11.,  cnap.  n. 
^Sicomachean  Ethics,  I.  viii.  \2. 


90  ETHICS.  [BK.  I..  CH.  III. 

have  become  habitual  are  done  almost  instinctively 
at  least  without  the  necessity  for  definite   reflection 
It  IS  important  to  bear  this  in  mind.      Its   application 
will  become  especially  apparent  when  we  are  dealing 
with  some  of  the  theories  of  Kant. 

§  6.  The   Freedom  of  the  Will.— We  are  now   --n  a 
position  to  consider  what  is  meant  by  human  freedom 
m  so  far  as  this  has  ethical  significance. 

Some  views  on  this  point  may  almost  immediately 
be  ruled  out  of  court.  Thus,  it  has  been  argued  that/ 
there  ,s  no  real  freedom,  since  men  are  determined  by 
circumstances.  This  was  the  doctrine,  for  instance,  of 
Robert  Owen,  the  Socialist.  Accordingly,  he  made 
.t  his  great  aim  in  life  to  improve  men's  external  con- 

tloiTn;.      ;"  •""  '"'■''  ''"'  "^'-^^  ""'''  «'-'-'  -ndi- 
t.ons  are  not  circumstances  in  any  sense  that  is  ethically 

.mportant.     Before  setting  ourselves  to  improve  mens 

conditions,  we  should  ask  ourselves  how  far  their  con! 

oircumsr"'  t"™^'""^^'"  '''"'•  and  what  so  t 
of  circumstances  they  are.     To  ask  this  is  at  the  same 

'let:   mS  :'f  ^°^*  °^  P'^°''"=  "-^  «-     I'  -  «  com! 
plete   mistake   to   suppose   that    men    are  determined 

by  conditions  that  are  in   any  true  sense  exteTllo 

Again,  freedom   is  sometimes   understood  to  mean 
the  power  of  acting  without  motives.     But  tife  a7so^s 
-,  absurdity.     To  act  without  motives,  ,■        wittu 
reference  to  anything  that  may  reasonably  serve  as  a^ 
."ducement  to  action,  would  be  to  act  frim  b  ind  im 
Ptilse,  as  some  of  the  lower  animMc  , 

to  do      B„t  fh.-c  •  ?     .  """""'^'s  n^^y  be  supposed 

to  uo.     But  this  IS  evidently  the  very  reverse  of  wh.t 
we  understand  by  freedom  '** 

I"    order   to  avoid   such   crude   misconceptions    as 


ft  7.]       CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT.         9^ 

these    it  is  important  to  consider  in   what  sense  the 
idea  of  freedom  is  ethically  significant. 
"  §  7   F--0''  —•- ™  MoKALS.-There  ,s  ln^-olv^d 
in  the   moral  consciousness   the  conviction    that   we 
.         M  t^  act  in  one  way  rather  than  in  another,  that 
7nfZ:     :   action  is  good  or  right,  and  another 
bad  oTevil.     Now,  as  Kant  urged,  there  would  be  no 
mealg  in  an  "ought"  if  it  were  not  accomp-^^^^^^^ 
.  "can  "  '     It  does  not  follow,  however,  thatthe     can 
defers  to  an  immediate  possibility.    A  ™-  -gh  to  be 
wise   for  instance  ;  but  wisdom  is  a  quali  y  that  can 
o.  y  be  gradually  developed.     What  can  be  done  at 
once    J  only  to  put  ourselves  in  the  way  of  acquiring 
once  IS  oiuy  i     p  neighbours.     But 

it.  Similarly,  we  ought  to  love  our  ne  g 
love  is  a  feeling  that  cannot  be  produced  at  will.  We 
can  only  put  ourselves  in  the  way  of  cultiyat.ng  kindly 
affections  But  it  would  be  absurd  to  say  that  a  man 
ofgh  to  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature  or  to  ^n.  for  two 
hundred  years.  He  cannot  even  put  himse  in  the 
V  ;  3  atlaining  these  ends,  and  they  cannot  Ujerejo 

-^  t    f  k;o  A^^i\T      Now  if  a  mans  will  were 

fnrm  anv  part  of  bis  duty,     i^^^v      ex 
Sutely'determined  by  his  circumstances,  it  would 
be  strictly  impossible  for  him  to  become  anything  but 

1  Cf  the  lines  of  Emerson—  ' 

"So  nigh  is  grandeur  to  our  dust, 
X>'*        So  near  is  God  to  man, 
«.**«A,V  ^         VVhenPuty  whispers  lou'.  Thou  must, 
■--rHeyouth  replies^/  en/;." 

2  For  this  reason  Kant  even  denies  that  love  is  a  duty^   See  M^J^^ 
,;rro3^oLs,  section  I.  ^Abbott's  translaM^^^ 

Ln  be  cultivated,  though  ^^  --^^  .^^/Z:^^^^^^^  antithesis 

view  on  this  and  kmdred  pomts  is  ^ue  to  me 

which  he  makes  between  Reason^ndFeelng^^^C^^^^^^^^^   ^^^^  ^^^ 

Philosothy  of  KanU  vol.  n.  pp.  280-282.    see  ai 

chap,  iii.,  §  I3- 


92 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  L,  CH.  III. 


§9.] 


CHARACTER   AND   CONDUCT. 


93 


that  which  he  does  become,  and  consequently  it  would 
be  impossible  that  he  ought  to  be  anything  different. 
There  would  thus  be  no  **  ought  "at  all.  Moral  im- 
peratives would  cease  to  have  any  meaning. '  If,  then, 
there  is  to  be  any  meaning  in  the  moral  imperative, 
the  will  must  not  be  absolutely  determined  by  circum- 
stances, but  must  in  some  sense  be  free.  This  is  true 
also  even  if  we  do  not,  like  Kant,  think  of  the  moral 
end  as  of  the  nature  of  an  imperative,  but  rather  as  a 
Good  or  Ideal  to  be  attained.  =^  It  still  remains  true 
that  such  an  ideal  must  be,  as  Aristotle  put  it,  rtpaxzdyxat 
xTTjTov  a\>0p(OTzio  (practicable  and  attainable  by  man). 

§  8.  Necessity  essential  to  INIorals. — Nevertheless, 
there  is  a  sense  also  in  which  necessity  is  required  for 
the  moral  life.  The  moral  life  consists,  as  we  have 
endeavoured  to  point  out,  in  the  formation  of  char- 
acter. Now  to  have  a  character  is  to  live  habitually 
in  a  certain  universe.  And  in  any  given  universe 
desires  have  a  definite  position  with  reference  to  one 
another ;  so  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  which  is  io 
give  place  to  another.  Plence  the  more  decidedly  a  | 
character  is  formed,  the  moie  uniform  will  be  its  choice' 

1  Hence  purely  determiiiist  writers  when  tliey  are  quite  con- 
sistent, deny  the  existence  of  any  absolute  "  ought,"  and  rc^^ard 
Ethics  not  as  a  normative  science,  but  as  an  ordinary  natural 
history  science — investigating*  what  men  do  or  tend  to  do,  not  what 
they  ought  to  do.  This  is  the  view,  for  instance,  which  is  taken 
by  Schopenhauer  (who,  in  spite  of  his  emphasis  on  the  Will,  was  to 
all  intents  a  pure  determinist).  Cf.  Janet's  Theory  of  Montis,  y>.  138, 
Another  good  example  of  pure  determinism,  accompanied  by  the 
denial  of  the  unity  of  the  self,  leading  to  a  natural  history  view  of 
Ethics,  will  be  found  in  Simmel's  Eitilritiiiif^in  tiic  Mornhclsscnschnff. 
Bentham's  attitude  to  some  extent  illustrates  the  same  thing.  See 
below.  Book  H.,  chap,  iv.,  §  5. 

'-^  See  below,  Book  Il„  chap.  ii. 


and  its  action.  Nay,  even  in  the  case  of  characters 
that  are  imperfectly  formed,  any  uncertainty  that 
exists  with  regard  to  the  action  is  due  only  to  our  im- 
perfect knowledge.  It  is  difficult  to  predict  what  will 
be  done  by  a  man  who  is  continually  shifting  from  one 
universe  to  another.  But  his  action  would  be  fully 
foreseen  by  any  one  who  knew  exactly  the  relation  in 
which  these  universes  stand  to  one  another  in  his 
mental  life.  And  not  only  is  this  true  as  a  fact  with 
regard  to  the  moral  lives  of  men,  but  it  thus/  be  true  if 
the  moral  life  is  to  have  any  meaning.  |The  moral 
life  means  the  building  up  of  character,  i  e.  it  means 
the  forming  of  definite  habits  of  action.'  And  if  a 
habit  of  action  be  definite,  it  is  uniform  and  predict- 
able. Now  necessity  is  often  understood  to  mean 
nothing  more  than  uniformity.  In  this  sense,  then, 
necessity  is  required  for  the  moral  life. 

§  9.  The  true  Sense  of  Freedom. — It  is  apt  to  seem 
as  if  there  were  a  certain  contradiction  between  these 
two  demands  of  the  moral  life.  But  there  is  no  con- 
tradiction when  we  observe  precisely  what  is  the 
nature  of  the  freedom  and  what  is  the  nature  of  the 
necessity  that  is  demanded.  The  necessity  means  ( 
simply  the  uniform  activity  of  a  given  character.  The 
freedom,  on  the  other  hand,  means  simply  the  absence 
of  determination  by  anything  outside  the  character  i 
itself.  A  vicious  man  in  a  sense  can,  and  in  a  sense 
cannot,  do  a  good  action.  He  cannot,  in  the  sense 
that  a  good  action  does  not  issue  from  such  a  char- 
acter as  his.  A  corrupt  tree  cannot  bring  forth  good 
fruit.  But  he  can  do  the  action,  in  the  sense  that  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  him  except  his  character — ?'.  e. 
except  himself.      Now  a  man  cannot  stand  outside  of 


94 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  III. 


himself,  and  regard  a  defect  in  his  own  character  as 
something  by  which  his  action  is  hindered.  If  he  can, 
but  for  himself,  ht  can  in  the  only  sense  that  is  required 
for  moraHty.  To  be  free  means  that  one  is  determined 
by  nothing  but  oneself.'  What  this  means,  how- 
ever, we  must  endeavour  to  explain  somewhat  more 
fully. 

§10.  Animal  Spontaneity. —Consider  in  what  sense 
an  animal  is  free.  As  compared  with  a  plant  or  a 
stone,  it  evidently  has  a  certain  spontaneity.  It  is  not 
moved  from  without,  as  a  stone  seems  to  be,  but  con- 
ducts itself  in  accordance  with  its  own  inner  feelings. 
It  should  be  observed,  however,  that  even  a  stone  is 
not  moved  entirely  from  without.  No  rock  was  ever 
thrown  to  the  ground  without  its  own  consent.  What 
we  call  the  laws  of  nature  in  obedience  to  which  stones 
are  raised  or  thrown  down,  are  laws  of  the  stone's 
nature  as  well  as  of  things  outside  of  it.  * '  The  hyssop 
grows  in  the  wall,  because  the  whole  universe  cannot 
prevent  it  from  growing."^  This  is  as  true  as  to  say 
that  it  grows  there  because  ihe  whole  universe  makes 
it  grow.  The  law  is  within  it  quite  as  truly  as  it  is 
without  it.  In  this  sense  Hegel  was  no  doubt  right  in 
saying  that  the  planets  run  round  the  sun  freely  like 
the  immortal  gods.      ''The  sun  attracts  them,"  it  is 

'  Those  writers  who  insist  on  the  fact  that  there  is  determination 
or  law  in  all  our  actions,  and  who  on  this  ground  deny  freedom  are 
commonly  known  as  Necessitarians.  On  the  other  hand,  those  who 
insist  on  liberty  to  such  an  extent  as  to  deny  all  law  or  determination 
in  human  conduct,  are  called  Libertarians  or  Indeterminists.  It  is 
now  generally  recognized  that  these  two  schools  of  writers  simply 
represent  opposite  sides  of  the  same  truth,  and  that  the  idea  of  self- 
detervnnation  combines  the  two  sides. 

'  Carlyle,  I  think,  says  this ;  I  do  not  remember  where. 


A   u.]     CHARACTER  AND  CONDUCT.         95 

said      But  the  sun  could  not  attract  them  unless  they 
wte  willing  to  be  attracted-.,  e.  unless  >t  lay  u.  the.r 
Tw  .  nature'to  be  attracted.     Still,  we  do  not  usua  ly 
:iu  of  the  planets,  or  of  inanimate  ^^^^^^^^ ^l^^;^^' 
as  having  any  spontaneity  m  its  mot.ons      And  nghtl^ 
The  mo v'ements  of  the  planets  are  not  determmed  by 
themselves  ;  for  they  have  no  selves.     The    aw    s  as 
truly  within  them  as  without   them  ;  but  U  is  also  as 
truly  without  them  as  within  them.     It  .s,  as  we  say 
a  "law  of  nature"  generally,  and  does  not  belong    o 
any  one  thing  in  particular.     There  is  "O  ':entre  to 
which  the  movement  can  strictly  be  referred.     In  the 
case  of  an  animal  it  is  different.     Here  there  is  a  self, 
there  is  a  centre  of  reference-.,.,  the  consciousness 
of  the  animal  itself.     It  is  from  that  P"'"*  ^hat  the 
movement  proceeds,  and  we  say  therefore  that  .t  is 

spontaneous.  . 

8  11.   Human  Liberty. -Yet  a  mere  anima,  has  not  a 
self  in  the  full  sense  of  the  term.     Its  self  is  s.mply  the 
eeling  of  the  moment.     It  has  not  a  definUe  universe 
of  reference.     A  man's  self,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the 
universe  in  which  he  habitually  lives.     For  this  reason, 
a  man  is  free  in  a  sense  in  which  an  animal  is  not  free 
If  an  animal  could  be  supposed  to  think  and  speak,  it 
could  not  refer  its  actions  to  itself,  but  only  to  its  im- 
pulse at  this  or  that  moment.  ■     No  doubt,  there  would 
be  a  certain  continuity   and  predictability  in  its  im- 
pulses ;  yet  at  each  moment  they  would  have  a  certain 

the  Study  of  Ethics,  chap.  vi. 


96 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  m. 


independence,  and  would  not  refer  to  a  common  centre. 
(This,  of  course,  means  simply  that  the  animal  does  «o/ 
thmk,  and  consequently  does  not  bring  the  moments 
of  its  consciousness  to  a  unity.      INIan,    on   the  other 
hand,  lives  within   the  universe  of  his  character.     In 
so  far  as  his   momentary  impulses  do  not   reflect  and 
reveal    that   character,    he   does  not    regard  them  as 
strictly  speaking,  his  own.      His  acts  are  his  own  only 
when  he  is  himself  m  doing  them-/,  e.  when  they  flow 
from  the  centre  of  his  habitual  universe.      He  has  thus 
a  centre  of  action  which  has  a  certain   relative   perma- 
nence ;  and  for  this  reason  his  acts  are  free  in  a  sense 
HI    which  the  movements  of  a   mere  animal,  though 
spontaneous,  are  not  free.' 

§12.  The  Highest  Freedom.— We  see,  then,  that 
there  are  higher  and  lower  senses  of  freedom  Even 
a  stone  is  not  simply  determined  from  without  An 
animal  has  spontaneity.  But  man  has  freedom  in  a 
higher  sense  than  either  of  these.  This  fact  naturallv 
suggests    the  inquiry  whether   the  ordinary  freedom  of 

1  Those  writers  who  have  insisted  on  determination,  to  the  exclu 

dual  self  or  character.    Thus  Hume  (who  may  be  regarded  as    he 
founder  o  the  determinist  school  in  modern  times)  says  mL   ,! 
Hiunan  Nature.  Book  I.,  Part  IV.,  section  vi.)  :  «'  When  I  enLr  mos 
intimately  into  what  I  call  ...s.//,  I  always^tumble  on  some^^ 
ticular  perception  or  other,  of  heat  or  cold,  light  or  shade  Tove  or 

sef :   prs^^nlftlT""';;  ^"'k'^  -n-^-ntl^^  concludes  IhTt  the 
seltorpeisonahtyis-nothmg  but  a  bundle  or  collection  of  differ 
cntperceptu^ns.  which  succeed  each  other  with  anl^^conce^^^^^^^^^ 
rapidity  and  are  in  a  perpetual  flux  and  movement  '    MHl  a  so  ac 
cepted   his  view     See  his  E.am^uaUon  ofS.r  JV.  //I///.,    chip  xiT 
For  criticisms  of  it.  see  Green's  edition  of  Hume  v^    i    i,Trod 


§12.] 


CHARACTER  AND   CONDUCT. 


97 


a  man    is  freedom    in  the   highest  sense,   or  whether 
there  is  the  possibility  of  a  freedom  of  a  still  higher 

kind. 

The  answer  seems  clearly  to  be  that  there  is  a  freedom 
of  a  still  higher  kind.     This  follows  at  once  from  the 
fact  that  there  is  a  s^^of  a  still  higher  kind.      This  is  a 
point  which  we  shall  have  to   consider  more  fully  in 
the  sequel.     In  the  meantime,  we  may  anticipate  so 
far  as  to  say  that,  in   a  certain   sense,  [no  form  of  self 
can  be  regarded  as  ultimately  real  except  the  rational 
self.  /   If  this   is  so,  the  only  true   or  ultimate  freedom 
will  be  the  freedom  that  consists  in  acting  from  this 
self  as  a  centre.      This  is  recognised   even  in  ordinary 
language.     The  man  who   acts   irrationally  is  said  to 
be  "  enslaved  by  his  passions. "     He  is  thus  not  thor- 
oughly free.      And   indeed,  there    are   times   when   a 
man    feels    that  his    irrational    acts    are    not,   strictly 
speaking,   his  own.     His  true  self  lies  deeper.     This 
seems  to  have  been   felt  by  the  writer  in  the  Pauline 
Epistles,  when  he  referred  his  shortcomings  not  to  him- 
self, but  to  ''sin  that  dwelleth  in  me."     Here  he  iden- 
tifies himself  with  the  higher  or  rational  self.     Yet  in 
another  passage  he  seems  to  identify  himself  rather 
with  the  lower  self,  when  he  says,  "It  is  no  longer  I 
that   live,  but  Christ  that  liveth  in   me."     Here    'T' 
refers  to  the  lower  self— the  habitual  character  of  the 
individual— while  the  higher  or  true  self  is   referred  to 
as  "Christ,"  living  in  him  and  gradually  coming  to 
complete  realisation.     There  are,  in  fact,  we  may  say, 
three  selves  in  every  man.     There  is  the  self  that  is 
revealed  in  occasional  impulses  which  we  cannot  quite 
subdue,  the  "sin  "  that,  after  all,  dwelleth  in   us.     On 

the  other  hand,  there  is  the  permanent  character,  the 
Eth.  7 


98 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  III. 


universe  in  which  we  habitually  live. '     And  finally  there 
IS  the  true  or  rational  self,  in  which  alone  we  feel  that 
we  can  rest  with  satisfaction-the   -  Christ  "(to  adopt 
the  Pauline  metaphor)  that  liveth  in  us,  and  in   whom 
vve  hope  more  and  more  to  abide.    I  And,  as  it  is  said 
elsewhere,   ''his  service  is  perfect  freedom.")    It  may 
m   a  certain    sense,   be    maintained   that   there    is    no 
other  perfect  freedom.     The  only  ultimate  self  is  the 
rational  self;  and  the  only  ultimate  freedom  is  the  free- 
dom that  we  have  when  we  are  rational.     This,  how- 
ever, is  a  point  that  cannot  be  fully  understood   until 
we  have  considered  the  nature  of  the  moral  ideal 

The  significance  of  all  this  may  perhaps  become 
more  apparent  as  we  proceed.  In  the  meantime  we 
nay  now  sum  up  the  results  at  which  we  have  arrived 
with  respect  to  the  nature  of  Conduct  or  Voluntary 
Action.  ^ 

§  13.  The  Nature  of  Voluntary  Action.— A  definite 
Illustration  may  perhaps  help  to  make  the  nature  of 
the  various  elements  in  voluntary  action  clear  to  us 

Take  the  case  of  the  desire  of  food.  The  first  ele 
ment  involved  in  this  is  the  mere  animal  appe/i/e  This 
we  may  suppose  to  be  at  first  a  mere  blind  impulse 
analogous  to  the  organic  impulse  by  which  a  flower 
turns  to  the  light ;  but  it  is  distinguished  from  such  a 
vegetable  impulse  by  the  presence  of  consciousness. 
In  this  consciousness  there  are  two  main  elements- 

1  Even  tliis  may  not  be  quite  simple.    "  Zwei  Seelen  wohnen  ach  ' 
min^-ra  T/h"  '"'  ^'"^^  ^''^^^°  ^°"^^'  ^^^  '  "^  -  this  breas  of 
I  am  double,   said  Renan  ;  "sometimes  one  part  of  myself  lautrhs 
wh,le  the  oth^r  cries."    In  cases  of  madness,'the  tvv7selves  often 
become  very  distinctly  separated. 


§13.] 


CHARACTER    AND   CONDUCT. 


9^ 


the  ideal  presentation,  in  vague  outline,^  of  the  object 
striven   towards,   and  a  feeling  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
The  latter  feeling  is  twofold  :  there  is  a  sense  of  plea- 
sure  in  the  anticipated  satisfaction,  and  a  sense  of  un 
easiness  connected  with  the  consciousness  of  its  ab- 
sence.     Thus  in  the  appetite  of  hunger  there  is  a  pecu- 
liar craving,  partly  pleasant  and  partly  uneasy,  accom- 
panied by  a  more  or  less  vague  consciousness  of  the 
kind  of  object  that  would  yield  satisfaction. '     Desire  is 
distinguished  from  mere  appetite  by  the  definite  pre- 
sence of  a  consciousness  of  the  object  as  an  end  to  be    ? 
aimed  at.     The  appetite  of  hunger  involves  a  vague 
uneasiness,  a  vague  consciousness  of  the  kind  of  object 
that  would  remove  the  uneasiness,  a  vague  anticipation 
of  pleasure  in  its  attainment.      Desire  of  food,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  a  definite  presentation  of  the  idea  of  food 
as  an  end  to  be  sought.      In  this  presentation,  as  in  the 
more  vague  presentation  of  the  object  in  appetite,  there 
is  also  involved  an  element  of  pleasure  and  pain.     The 
object  thus  definitely  presented  as  an   end  in  desire  is 
what  is  most  properly  understood  by  a  motive.     Such    v 
motives  may  conflict  :  the  ends  involved  may  be  in- 
compatible with  one  another.      Hence  the  desires  gov- 
erned by  these  motives  may  remain  in  abeyance.    The 
object   presented  as  a  desirable  end  may  not  be  defi- 
nitely chosen  as  an  end—/,  e.    it  may  not  become  a 
wish.     A  wish  is  a  desire  selected.     It  is  a  desire  on 
which  attention  has  been  concentrated,  and  which  has 
thus  secured  a  certain  dominance  in  our  consciousness. 
The  wish  for  food  is  more  than  the  mere  desire  for  food. 
It  is  a  concentrated  desire.     But  even  this  is  still  not  an 

1  It  is  open  to  doubt  whether  this  element  is  present-in  the  animal 
consciousness  at  all.    Cf.  above,  chap,  i.,  §  3. 


lOO 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  III. 


act  of  will.     An  act  of  will  involves,  besides,  a  definite 
purpose  or  inientio7i  ;  i.  e.  in  an  act  of  will  we  do   not 
merely  concentrate  our  attention  on  an  end  as  a  good 
to  be  sought ;  but,  in  addition,  we  regard   it  as  an  end 
to  be  brought  about  by  us.     The  purpose  of  procuring 
food — the  intention,    for    instance,    of  working    for   a 
livelihood— is  more  than  the  mere  wish  for  food,  more 
than  a  mere  prayer  or  aspiration.       Wj7I,  however,  in- 
volves,  further,  an   actual  energising.      A  purpose  or 
intention  refers  to  the  future,   and  may  not  be  carried 
out.     In  an  act  of  will  the  idea  becomes  a  force.    How 
this  is  done  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer  ;  and,  hap- 
pily, it  is  not  a  problem  that  we  require  here  to  solve. 
We  have  merely  to  notice  this  element  of  active  energis- 
ing as  involved  in  an  Act  of  Will.     The  man  who  wills 
to  procure  food  does  not  merely  intend  to   work,  but 
actually    does   exert  himself.      Finally,    character   is   a 
formed  habit— ^.  g.  the  habit   of  activity  in  some  par- 
ticular industrial  pursuit. ' 

1  Mr.  Stout's  article  on  "  Voluntary  Action,"  already  referred  to, 
should  be  consulted  on  several  of  these  points. 


•*■.. 


\i 


CHARACTER  AND   CONDUCT.  lOI 

Note  on  Responsibility. 

.        .■    .=  ih^  interest  in  the  question  of  the  Freedom  of  the 
In  modern  times  the  mterest  n  ine  q  ^.^^^ 

Will  has  been  stitnulated  -"^"•^^^>;  ^^f^^^^VpHons  of  Heaven  and 
of  human  respons.b.hty.>  Jhe  Medieval  p       ^^  ^^  ^^ 

Hell  &^^■lf::':l^^':^Z,Z:or^'^.  andapportioninginfinite 
supreme  Judge,  s  andmgoms  ^  ^^    ^^^^^  .^hich  men 

rewards  and  punishments  "  »'=';°/°^"'^;;"<ja„ee  with  the  beliefs 
had  led,  or,  as  some  rather  '^-'g'^^^ZT^ts^uLsenousm^cul. 
whichthey  had  entertamed.    This  doane^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^^^^^  .^ 

ties.    On  the  one  hand,  if  ^  berty  o    'na  ^^^^.^^^,. 

men  were  supposed  to  have  the  power  o  acting  ^^  ^^^.^ 

of  choosing  a  P-t-u  ar    me  of  -n^    t  -tho  .^  ^^.^,  ,,,^  , 
characters-,.  ._ '»    f  ""'^^^'/t^  ^e  both  unintelligible  in  itself  and 
habitually  ■^•^<*-''''\^PP'"rti  '  of  the  freedom  of  a  merely  created. 

ing  up  of  his  own  cliaracter,  '^'^'^e  select  o  ^^  ^^^  ^,^^ 

:;'if  IJru^:nd^re%n;t,utrorit  seems  to  Ue  m  the  acnowl. 

of  his  life  is  determined  by  the  moral  atmospnci 

p  aced  ^    In  a  sense  we  choose  our  own  universes  ;  b"' 'he    w^e 

evil  in  particular  directions.    Over  this     original  sm,  g 

virtue,  which  lies  in  our  disposition  from  the  fir.t,  _^^^  ^^ve  no  co 
trol.    It  is  ourselves  ;  it  constitutes  the  P="f^"'='',"^'"^f  ^^'^'^^  c^t 

as  Thomas_Carl>ae^admit^^^ 

'  1  Cf.  beiow,  Book  III.,  chap,  vi.,  §  7- 


I02 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  III. 


acter  is  an  inheritance,  and  that  the  development  of  it  is  affected  by 
bodily  qualities.     Thus,  notwithstanding  his  strenuous  insistence  on 
the  doctrine  that  every  man  is  the  shaper  of  his  own  destiny,  we 
find  him,  in  his  Essay  on  Sir  Walter  Scott,  making  this  candid  admis- 
sion :  *'  Disease,  which  is  but  superficial,  and  issues  in  outer  lameness, 
does  not  cloud  the  young  existence  ;  rather  forwards  it  towards  the 
expansion  it  is  fitted  for.    The  miserable  disease  had  been  one  of  the 
internal  nobler  parts,  marring  the  general  organisation  ;  under  which 
no  Walter  Scott  could  have  been  forwarded,  or  with  all  his  other 
endowments  could  have  been  producible  or  possible."    What,  then, 
becomes  of  responsibility  ?    Have  we  not  here  a  puzzle  or  antinomy 
as  real  as  that  with  which  the  Mediaeval  Theology  was  perplexed  ? 
But  the  answer  to  this  has  been  partly  seen  already.    If  a  man  were 
a  mere  animal,  the  only  reasonable  course  would  be  to  take  him  as 
we  find  him.     In  that  case,  the  only  justification  of  punishment  i 
would  be  found  in  the  hope  of  effecting,  by  means  of  it,  some  im- 
provement in  the  disposition  of  him  who  is  punished.     But  a  man 
cannot  regard  himself  as  a  mere  animal,  nor  can  a  society  of  men 
regard  its  members  as  simply  animals.    They  must  be  regarded  as 
beings  animated  by  an  ideal,  which  they  are  bound  to  aim  at  realis- 
ing, and  which  they  can  realise  as  soon  as  they  become  aware  of 
the  obligation.    No  man  could  regard  it  as  an  excuse  for  his  evil 
conduct,  that  he  is  a  mere  brute  beast,  who  knows  no  better.     Nor 
could  a  society  accept  this  as  an  excuse  for  any  of  its  members. 
Whether  a  God,  sitting  outside  as  an  external  Judge,  ought  not  to 
accept  it  as  an  excuse,  is  quite  another  question,  with  which  we  have 
here  no  concern.     Our  question  is  merely  with  regard  to  the  way  in 
which  a  man  or  a  society  of  men  must  judge  human  conduct.    And, 
from  this  point  of  view,  it  is  quite  sufficient  to  say  that  men  must 
regard  themselves  and  others  as  soldiers  of  the  ideal ;  that  those 
who  fail  to  struggle  for  it  must  be  treated  as  deserters,  and  those 
who  deny  its  authority  as  guilty  of  Ihc  majesty  against  the  dignity 
of  human  nature.    There  is  no  stone  wall  in  the  way  of  a  man's 
moral  progress.    There  is  only  himself.    And  he  cannot  accept  him- 
self as  a  mere  fact,  but  only  as  a  fact  ruled  by  an  ideal. 

I  cannot  hope  that  such  remarks  as  these  will  remove  all  difficul- 
ties from  the  mind  of  the  student.  The  question,  however,  when 
pressed  beyond  a  certain  point,  begins  to  be  rather  of  metaphysical 
and  theological  than  of  strictly  ethical  importance.2 


^  See  below,  Book  HI.,  chap,  vi.,  §  6. 

2  A  complete  discussion  of  this  difficult  question  would  evidently 


CHARACTER   AND   CONDUCT. 


103 


carry  us  far  beyond  the  limits  of  such  a  handbook  as  the  present.  I 
have  touched  upon  it  here  only  so  far  as  seemed  necessary  to  bring 
out  its  bearing  upon  Ethics.  For  fuller  discussion  the  reader  may 
be  referred  to  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II.,  chap.  L, 
Green's  CoUcckd  Works,  pp.  308— 333.  Bradley's  Ethical  Studies, 
Essay  I.,  Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chap,  v.,  Caird's 
Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  Book  H.,  chap,  iii.,  Martineau's  Study  of 
Religion,  Book  HI.,  chap,  ii.)  Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress, 
pp,  336—341,  Gizycki's  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Ethics,  chap,  vi., 
Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  278—293,  and  Seth's  Study  of  Ethical 
Principles,  Part  HI.,  chap.  i.  Cf  also  Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics, 
Part  I.,  chap,  iii.,  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  50— 54,  Lotze's 
Practical  Philosophy,  chap,  iii.,  and  Calderwood's  Handbook  of  Moral 
Philosophv,  Part  II.,  chaps,  iii.  and  iv.  The  views  of  Green,  Bradley. 
Caird,  Alexander,  Gizycki,  Dewey,  and  Muirhead  are  in  the  mam  m 
agreement  with  that  here  stated.  Lotze,  Martineau,  Calderwood, 
and  Seth  defend  freedom,  though  generally  rejecting  Liberty  of  In- 
difference in  its  most  extreme  form  Sidgwick  takes  up  a  neutral 
position.  Stephen  is  a  Determinist,  and  does  not  fully  recognise  the 
fact  of  self-determination.  The  same  remark  applies  on  the  whole 
to  the  excellent  discussion  of  Freedom  in  Simmel's  recent  Einleitung 
in  die  Moialwissenschaft,  Vol.  II.,  chap.  vi. 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  IV. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  CONDUCT. 


§  1.  Introductory  Statement.  Conduct,  like  other 
aspects  of  human  life,  undergoes  a  steady  process  of 
development,  both  in  the  individual  and  in  the  race. 
This  development  is  closely  connected  with  the  gen- 
eral development  of  the  forms  and  customs  of 
social  life,  and  thus  forms  part  of  the  material  which 
it  is  the  business  of  the  young  science  of  Sociology  to 
investigate. 

Recent  writers  on  Sociology  have  tended  to  lay  a 
good  deal  of  emphasis  on  the  class  of  phenomena 
described  by  the  terms  Imitation  and  Suggestion,  as 
throwing  light  on  the  development  of  social  customs.* 
These  conceptions  are  probably  inadequate  in  dealing 
with  the  higher  elements  in  social  development ;  but 
they  do  seem  to  be  of  value  in  dealing  with  the 
more  primitive  facts  of  human  and  animal  life,  and 
they  may  thus  serve  as  a  convenient  point  of  de- 
parture. 

It  seems  to  be  a  general  truth  in  Psychology  that 
every  presentation  involving  the  idea  of  movement 
brings  with  it  a  more  or  less  definite  "suggestion  "  of 
the  movement  involved — /.  e.  gives  rise  to  a  certain 
tendency   to   perform   the    movement.       This    is    es- 

1  French  writers  in  particular,  such  as  Guyau  and  Tarde,  have 
laid  great  emphasis  on  facts  of  this  class. 


{ 


b 


11 


2.] 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  CONDUCT. 


I05 


pecially  true  when  the  movement  conveyed  to  an 
animal  being  in  idea  is  one  for  the  performance  of 
which  its  bodily  organs  are  adapted.  It  then  gives 
rise  to  movements  which  may  be  described  as  ''imita- 
tions "  of  the  original  movement — it  being  borne  in 
mind  that  they  are  not  to  be  regarded  as  conscious  im- 
itations, but  rather  as  being  of  the  nature  of  *' sugges- 
tion." There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  facts  of  lan- 
guage and  other  expressive  movements  are  to  a  large 
extent  to  be  explained  in  this  way  ;  and  so  also,  in  all 
probability,  are  many  of  the  instinctive  actions  ^  of  the 
lower  animals  and  many  of  the  customs  of  primitive 
peoples.  Some  further  remarks  on  this  point  may 
sufhce  as  an  introduction  to  the  subject. 

§  2.  Germs  of  Conduct  in  the  Lower  Animals. — 
Though  it  is  perhaps  true  that  Conduct,  in  the  stricter 
sense  of  the  term,  is  not  to  be  found  at  all  in  the 
actions  of  the  lower  animals,  yet  it  is  certainly  the 
case  that  we  may  detect  in  them  the  germs  of  that 
which  becomes  conduct  in  man.  If  animals  can 
seldom  be  credited  with  any  direct  consciousness  of 
an  end,  they  are  at  least  led  by  certain  natural  im- 
pulses to  the  accomplishment  of  ends  of  which  they 

1  It  is  still  an  undecided  question,  what  exactly  should  be  under- 
stood by  instinct ;  and  any  discussion  of  it  would  obviously  be  out  of 
place  here.  Some  writers  Hmit  the  term  to  forms  of  activity  that 
are  innate  ;  but  if  Principal  Lloyd  Morgan  is  right  in  thinking  that 
nothing  is  innate  in  animals  except  physiological  tendencies  to  cer- 
tain forms  of  action  when  an  appropriate  stimulus  is  presented,  in- 
stinct in  the  psychological  sense  would  seem,  on  this  interpretation, 
to  be  reduced  to  zero.  (See  his  work  on  Comparative  Psychology 
and  his  more  recent  book  on  Habit  and  Instinct).  For  our  present 
purpose,  I  prefer  to  understandthe  term  as  including  all  movements 
that  presuppose  nothing  more  (from  the  psychological  point  of  view) 
than  percepts  and  perceptual  images. 


io6 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  IV. 


§3,] 


THE   EVOLUTION   OF   CONDUCT. 


107 


are  themselves  unaware.  Like  the  makers  of  the 
cathedrals,  they  "build  better  than  they  know,"  their 
instincts  often  carry  them  more  certainly  to  the 
attainment  of  the  ends  of  their  species  than  human 
reason  guides  us.  Now  the  nature  of  instinct  is 
largely  involved  in  obscurity.  It  seems  partly  to  de- 
pend on  hereditary  impulses  to  action  under  particu- 
lar forms  of  stimulus ;  but  to  some  extent  also  it 
seems  to  be  acquired  in  the  lifetime  of  the  individual 
animal,  and  to  be  developed  under  the  influence  of 
suggestion.  The  young  of  a  species  learn  by  imita- 
tion of  the  more  mature.'     This  is  especially  seen  in 

1  Here  again  the  facts  of  the  case  are  somewhat  open  to  dispute. 
The  following  extract  may  be  given  from  Principal  Lloyd  Morgan, 
who  is  probably  our  best  authority  on  such  subjects.  "  If  one  of  a 
group  of  chicks  learn  by  casual  experience,  such  as  I  have  before 
described,  to  drink  from  a  tin  of  water,  others  will  run  up  and  peck 
at  the  water,  and  will  themselves  drink.  A  hen  teaches  her  little 
ones  to  pick  up  grain  or  other  food  by  pecking  on  the  ground  and 
dropping  suitable  materials  before  them,  the  chicks  seeming  to 
imitate  her  actions.  One  may  make  chicks  and  young  pheasants 
peck  by  simulating  the  action  of  a  hen  with  a  pencil-point  or  pair  of 
fine  forceps.  According  to  Mr.  Peals  statement,  before  quoted,  the 
Assamese  find  that  young  jungle  pheasants  will  perish  if  their  peck- 
ing responses  are  not  thus  stimulated  ;  and  Prof.  Claypole  tells  me 
that  this  is  also  the  case  with  ostriches  hatched  in  an  incubator 

It  is  certainly  much  easier  to  bring  up  young  birds 

if  older  ones  are  setting  an  example  of  eating  and  drinking  ;  and 
instinctive  actions,  such  as  scratching  the  ground,  are  performed 
earlier  if  imitation  be  not  excluded A  number  of  sim- 
ilar cases  might  be  given.  l:iut  what  impresses  the  observer,  as  he 
watches  the  early  development  of  a  brood  of  young  birds,  is  the 
presence  of  an  imitative  tendency  which  is  e.xemplified  in  many 
little  ways  not  easy  to  describe  in  detail."  (Hnhit  and  Instinct,  pp. 
166—167).  No  doubt  in  all  such  cases  congenital  aptitude  (and  per- 
haps also  congenital  impulse)  is  presupposed.  How  much  may 
fairly  be  ascribed  to  heredity  and  how  much  to  suggestion,  is  a  dif- 
ficult problem,  with  which,  happily,  we  are  not  here  concerned. 


I 


the  case  of  the  more  gregarious  animals,  in  which, 
as  in  the  familiar  case  of  sheep,  the  movements 
of  leaders  are  observed,  and  in  which  certain  habi- 
tual forms  of  activity  grow  up,'  almost  similar  to 
the  customary  morality  of  human  beings.  Some- 
times also  penalties  seem  even  to  be  attached  to  vio- 
lations of  the  customs  that  have  grown  up  within 
the  herd.  In  this  we  see  the  germs  both  of  moral 
action  and  of  moral  judgment,  though  it  would  prob- 
ably be  going  too  far  to  say  that  there  is  anything 
more  than  the  germs  of  them. 

§  3.  Conduct  among  Savages. — Among  savages  also 
the  moral  consciousness  is  largely  still  in  germ. 
Their  actions  are  to  a  great  extent  impulsive,  and 
show  little  sign  of  forethought  with  regard  to  distant 
consequences.  Yet  they  are  by  no  means  left  to  the 
guidance  of  individual  caprice.  The  savage  is  a 
member  of  a  tribe,  and  his  life  is  hedged  about  by 
customary  observances,  of  which  the  purpose  is  not 
always  very  apparent.  In  the  formation  of  these,  sug- 
gestion and  conscious  imitation  no  doubt  play  a  con- 
siderable part  ;  and  even  when  an  end  can  be  de- 
tected, it  must  not  always  be  assumed  that  it  was 
consciously  present  to  the  minds  of  those  who  were 
led  to  adopt  the  means  to  its  attainment. 

§  4.  The  Guidance  of  Conduct  by  Custom. — Even 
after  mankind  have  to  a  considerable  extent  emerged 
from  savagery,  the  influence  of  custom   in  the  deter- 

1  How  far  these  grow  up  in  the  lifetime  of  the  individual,  and 
how  far  they  are  a  result  of  imitation,  are  points  still  open  to  dis- 
pute. The  action  of  the  queen  bee,  in  killing  off  her  rivals  as  soon 
as  she  herself  emerges  from  the  cell,  would  almost  seem  to  imply  a 
congenital  impulse. 


r 


1 08 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  IV. 


7,] 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  CONDUCT. 


109 


„,  ,h.  morally  of  "— ,  J  /,"L„ch  n.rrowe, 
„„«  h.,  t«'7°  "^^"*'*  'b„,  even  now  It  is 
.„d    n,or.  '""f  ■«;»' J„"f  „ed    mo,,  wldcl,  and 

Milton, 

..  And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power." 

At  anv  rate  whatever  terms  we  may  use  to  express 
i  fit  tierc  can  be  no  doubt  that  customary  mo- 
;tmy  %ceTes   that  which   is   based   on    iaw    or   on 

"  sT'thb  G..O.KCE  or  Cokcuct  bv  L.w. -Gradually 

§  5.    THE  OLID  ^^^^^.^^    ^^jgg    ^f 

however,    m   the   lite   o     a   p     1     , 

artion  beein  to  be  established.      1  o  some  exie 

a  e     simply     customary     observances     made     more 

definite     but  generally  in  the  formulation  of  positive 

faw      a'certai'     change    gets    introduced     into    the 

pilous  customs.     When,  for  "-^--'/^fi"''  J  ^^ 

with   reference  to  criminal  actions   take  the  place  ot 

The  primitive  custom  of    revenge,   the  extent  of  the 

fetalS'n  is  a  good  deal  limited,  and  a  more  definite 

conception  ofjustice  is  introduced. 

6  6    The    Guid.oce    of   Conduct    by    loEAS.-When 
definite   laws  have   been  formulated,   reflection    soon 
.       begins      Rules   almost   inevitably  conflict^  both  w  1  h 
custom  and  with  one  another  ;  ^"^1  "V"^y/f^f  ^J. 
are  found  too  rigid  for  the  guidance  of  conduct,     t 
centional    circumstances    arise,    and   men    are  led   to 
eJ  ct  on  the  principles  that  underlie  the  rules,  m  order 


to  see  how  they  ought  to  be  modified  under  the  stress 
of  special  difficulties.  Such  reflection  leads  to  a  gradual 
supersession  of  the  letter  of  the  law  in  favour  of  its 
underlying  spirit.  Men  learn  to  guide  themselves  by 
principle  instead  of  by  rule,  i  e.  by  consideration  of  the 
most  important  aims  that  they  have  in  view,  and  the 
means  that  are  best  adapted  to  their  realisation.  When 
this  stage  is  reached,  we  have  passed  almost  entirely 
beyond  the  region  of  suggestion  and  imitation.  Re- 
flective morality  is  substituted  for  customary  obser- 
vance. 

^  §  7.  Action    and    Reflection.— Of  course   the   part 

played  by  reflection  even  in  the  most  fully  developed 
forms  of  morality  ought  not  to  be  exaggerated.      The 
moral  life,  even  in  its  most  developed  stages,  is  not 
passed  entirely  in  cool   reflective  hours  ;  and  even   if 
it  were,  the  complexity  of  the  material  would  prevent 
its  complete  saturation  by  reflective  principles.     Swift 
decisions    have  to    be    made    and    far-reaching    plans 
formed  ;  so  that  in  the  actual  activities  of  the  concrete 
moral  life  even  the  most  thoughtful  of  men  live  to  a 
considerable  extent  by  faith,  and  do  not  guide  them- 
selves  entirely    by   well    developed    principles.     The 
ideas  by  which  they  are  guided  are  partly  formed  by 
reflection,  but  partly  also  they  are  derived   from  the 
experience  of  the  individual  and  partly  from  the  experi- 
ence of  the  race.      Even  here,  then,  imitation  and  sug- 
gestion are  not  entirely  excluded.     There  is  something 
of  the  nature  of  instinct  and  impulse  even  in  our  most 
developed  conduct. 

§  8.  Moral  Ideas  and  Ideas  about  Morality. — This 
leads  us  to  notice  an  important  distinction,  on  which 
a  good  deal  of  emphasis  has  been  laid  in  recent  times 


I^fO  ETHICS.  [BK.  I.,  CII.  IV. 

—viz.  the  distinction  which  has  been  well  expressed  by 
Dr.  Bosanquet  ^   as   that   between  "  Moral  Ideas  "  and 
*'  Ideas  about   Morality,"  or,  as  it   might  be  put   more 
briefly,  between  Moral  Ideas  and  Ethical  Ideas.     The 
ideas  by  which  we  are  guided  in  our  actions  may  be  of 
a  more  or  less  reflective  character.      A  man  may  guide 
himself  by  the  conception  of  a  clearly-defined  end,  such 
as  the  attainment  of  happiness  or  perfection,  and  may 
adapt  his  whole  line  of  conduct  to  the  attainment  of  this. 
In  such  a  case  he  is  guided  by  an  Ethical  Idea  or  by  an 
*'  Idea  about  Morality,"  i.  e.  by  an  idea  formed  through 
reflection  upon  the  nature  of  the  moral  end.     But  a 
Moral  Idea  need  not  be  of  this  character.     A  moral 
idea   may  be  got,  as  it  is  sometimes  put,  out  of  our 
/'spiritual  atmosphere."      The   idea,   for   instance,  of 
the  kind  of  conduct  which  fits  a   "gentleman"  or  a 
*' Christian  "  is  not,  as  a  rule,  derived  from  any  definite 
reflection  on  the  nature  of  the  moral  end,  but  is  rather 
acquired  through  tradition  and  experience.     It  is  im- 
portant, then,  to  remember  that  a  man  may  be  guided 
by  moral  ideas  though  he  has  never  definitely  reflected 
upon  the  nature  of  morality.      It  may  be  added  that  a 
man  may  have  reflected  much,  and  even  deeply,  upon 
the  nature  of  morality  ;   and  yet   his  stock  of  moral 
ideas  may  be  but  small  and  ineflicient.     It  is  no  doubt 
possible   to  make  too   much  of  this  distinction  ;  and 
perhaps  Dr.  Bosanquet,  who  is  chiefly  responsible  for 
the  clear  statement  of  it,  has  somewhat  exaggerated  the 
antithesis.     Every  moral  idea  is  capable  of  reflective 
analysis,  and  may   thus  be  said  to   imply   an   ethical 

^^n^r\^Tiic\Q  in  The  International  Journal  of  Ethics  Vol  I    no  i 
It  has  since  been  reprinted  in  The  Civilization  of  Christendom   pd 
160—207.  '  ^^ 


I' 


f 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  CONDUCT. 


Ill 


§  9-] 

,       •     MorUr     Pverv    ethical    idea    naturally 
idea,     and,    similarly   ^^JJ  ^^     ,     ^^-^  j^  ^  point, 

becomes  a  --^  °^J°tu  have  occasion  to  touch 

=:;y°:rtermrL^^^^^^^^^ 

formed  of  the  ^^  ay  ^^^  suggestion  and 

rom  customary  action  ^^^^^^^^  .^oice. 

ITorS'    how  vlfto  have'a  complete  view   of  the 

ovvtW  the  moral  consciousness,  it  is  necessary  to 

growth  ot  tne  moi  conduct  is 

ways  indicate  their   opmion  that  Part'C"'^ 

Minn  are  ri-ht  and  others  wrong.  The  two  hnes  01 
dev  opme^are  closely  connected,  but  they  are  also 
quite  distinct  ;  for  it  is  often  but  too  apparent  that  men 

i,.ouM.einteresHn,toi„,..h<.v,^^^^^^^^^^ 

the  influence  of  Plato  and  ^l^'^^J^^^^^ZL  towards'animals 
„ight  ask  how  ar  ou-nod        >deas  abo^,^^.^^   ^^^  ^^^^.  ^^ 

can  be  traced  to  theinHuence  "'  .    f  moral  sentiment. 

are  due  .0  a  more  ^^-X:Z.^m!nto^ns..e.    "The  wind 


w 


^ 


112 


ETHICS. 


f^^-  J.  CH.  IV. 


do  not  act  in  iu  ^         ^''  ^^'  ^V. 


I 


I 


THE   EVOLUTION   OF   CONDUCT. 


113 


Note  on  Sociology. 

The  further  discussion  of  the  points  dealt  with  in  this  chapter, 
and  to  some  extent  also  of  those  dealt  with  in  the  following  chapter, 
seems  to  belong  most  properly  to  Sociology.  But  this  science  is  in 
TvTry  undeveiped  state"^  The  beginnings  of  it  are  seen  in  the 
PO////CS  of  Aristotle.  In  more  modern  times  it  owes  much  to  Hobbes. 
Sp  ioza,  Locke,  Shaftesbury.  Hutcheson,  Rousseau,  Montesquieu, 
sr  Sir^on  Adam  Smith,  Kant,  Fichte,  Hegel,  and  several  others. 
But  the  deknite  foundation  of  it  must,  on  the  whole,  be  ascribed  to 
Comte  In  this  country  it  was  brought  into  prominence  by  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencers  interesting  little  book  on  The  Study  of  Sociology, 
rite  Principles  of  Sociologv,  by  the  same  author,  have  just  been  com- 
i^leted   and  constitute  the  most  elaborate  contribution  to  the  sub- 

ect  in  this  country.    In  French,  reference  may  be  made  to  such 
works  as  De  Greefs  Introduction  h  la  sociologic,  Tarde  s  L^s  lots  de 

nniitatiouAX.e  writings  of  Fouillee  --^  ^^y-'^^^^^^^jf'Zl 
In  German,  the  most  elaborate  contribution  is  Schaffles  i^mt 
^rdUhcndes  socialen  Korpcrs.  The  works  of  Simmel  U.  .7>r. 
^iuimrcn.ieruug  and  Einleitun,  m  die  ^^^-^f '-"^^f  ^^^J 
a  specialinterest  from  the  intimate  way  ^"  ^^'^^'^V  tt^  '  .  de" 
ned  Sociology  with  Ethic.  He  practically  regards  Ethics  as  a  de- 
pa  tment  of  Sociology.     Some  account  and  criticism  of  his  v.ew 

will  be  found  in  Bougies  recent  work  ^^ ^^'^ ''''''''LTyTlU 
Alleniagne.    See  also  Mind.  New  Series,  Vol  I.,  no.  4;  and  \^  HI 
no  "     Several  American  writers  have  also  dealt  with  Sociolog>, 
noiably  Mr.  Lester  F.  Ward.    Profs.  Small  and  Vincent  have  written 

An  Introduction  to  the  ^^''^^  ^/S^^'^'^' ^"^' "T/' r^HH^^^^^^^^^ 
teresting  handbooks  have  been  written  by  ^7^^^  f  ^.^  "^^  an^ 
Fairbanks  There  is  also  an  American  Journal  of  Soao/c^^v,  pub- 
lished at  Chicago.  It  thus  seems  clear  that  some  beginning  has 
been  made  in  the  study  of  the  science.  But  it  can  hardly  be  said  as 
yet  that  it  has  any  recognized  principles  or  method.  The  student 
who  desires  to  gain  some  idea  of  its  present  position  will  probably 
find  The  Principles  of  Sociology  by  Prof.  Giddings  or  An  Introduction 
to  Sociology  by  Prof.  Fairbanks  most  helpful.  Both  contain  good 
Bibliographies.  The  recent  article  by  Dr.  Bosanquet  on  Philosophy 
and  Sociology  {Mind,  January,  1897)  will  also  be  found  exceedingly 
instructive. 

Eth.  o 


A.  - 


114 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  V. 


i 


CHAPTER  V. 

the  growth  of  the  moral  judgment. 

§  1.  The  Earliest  Forms  of  the  Moral  Judgment. — 
The  germs  of  moral  judgment,  like  the  germs  of  con- 
duct, may  be  found  even  among  the  lower  animals. 
Domesticated  animals,  especially  dogs,  seem  often  to 
have  a  consciousness  of  having  done  wrong  ;    at  least 
they  seem  to  be  aware  when  they  have  rendered  them- 
selves liable  to  punishment.     And  even   wild  animals, 
of  the  more  gregarious  species,  seem  to  exhibit  certain 
rude  beginnings  of  moral  judgment.     They  seem   at 
least  to  exhibit  a  certain   discomfort  at  the  violation  of 
a  general  and  settled  habit  of  action,  and  even  in  some 
cases,  if  all  tales  are  true,  to  inflict  punishment  on  those 
members  of  the  herd  that  violate  its  traditions.      But 
the   severest    punishments    appear   to   be   inflicted  on 
those  whose  only  crime  is  that  of  being  diseased  or 
wounded  ;  so  that  their  action  may  perhaps  be  inter- 
preted, if  it  IS  to  have  a  quasi-moral  interpretation  at 
all,^  as  an  instinctive  defence  of  the  herd  against  any- 
thhig  that  would  tend  to  weaken   it,  rather  than  any- 
thing of  the  nature  of  a  distinctly  moral  judgment.      But 

1  The  probability  is  rather,  as  Mr.  Stout  suggests,  that  "the  distress 
of  the  comrade,  and  especially  the  smell  of  blood,  rouses  blind  fury 
which  tends  to  find  a  definite  channel,  and  thus  vents  itself  on  the 
object  which  is  the  centre  of  attention,  i.  e.,  the  distressed  comrade 
itselt.     If  an  enemy  is  at  hand,  he  will  suffer." 


§  2.]    THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    II5 

among  primitive  races  of  mankind  also  the  judgment 
passed  on  conduct,  and  expressing  itself  in  reward  and 
punishment,  seems  to  mean  little  more  than  approbation 
of  that  which  strengthens  and  disapproval  of  that  which 
weakens  the  tribe. '  The  important  point  to  notice, 
however,  is  that  the  earliest  forms  of  moral  judgment 
involve  reference  to  a  tribe  or  form  of  society  of  which 
the  individual  is  but  a  member.  The  germ  of  this  is 
no  doubt  found  in  the  gregarious  consciousness  of 
animals. 

§  2.  The  Tribal  Self. — This  point  was  brought  out 
in  an  interesting  way  by  Clifford  in  his  account  ^  of  what 
he  described  as  '*  The  Tribal  Self."  Clifford  begins  by 
saying  that  the  Self  means  essentially  "a  sort  of  centre 
about  which  our  remoter  motives  revolve,  and  to  which 
they  always  have  regard."  It  is,  in  short,  a  universe 
of  reference.      "  If  we  consider  now, "  he  goes  on,  "  the 

^  Something  of  the  same  sort  may  be  observed  even  in  more 
developed  communities  under  certain  conditions.  Thus,  in  Bryce's 
American  Commonwealth  (chap.  Ixiii.),  the  following  remarks  are 
made  on  some  aspects  of  American  political  life :  "  Even  city  poli- 
ticians must  have  a  moral  code  and  a  moral  standard.  It  is  not  the 
code  of  an  ordinary  unprofessional  citizen.  It  does  not  forbid  false- 
hood, or  malversation,  or  ballot  stuffing,  or  'repeating.'  But  it 
denounces  apathy  or  cowardice,  disobedience,  and,  above  all,  treason 
to  the  party.  Its  typical  virtue  is  '  solidity,'  unity  of  heart,  mind, 
and  effort  among  the  workers,  unquestioning  loyalty  to  the  party 
ticket.  He  who  takes  his  own  course  is  a  kicker  or  bolter  ;  and  is 
punished  not  only  sternly  but  vindictively."  Nor  is  this  kind  of 
moral  standard  wholly  unknown  in  English  party  politics,  or  in  the 
medical  profession,  or  in  the  working  of  Trades  Unions.  But  such 
a  moral  standard  in  modern  times,  being  as  it  were  a  standard  within 
a  standard,  is  not  able  wholly  to  maintain  itself  against  the  recog- 
nized moral  standard  of  the  people.  Even  the  professional  politician 
sometimes  finds  it  necessary  "  to  pander  a  little  to  the  moral  sense 
of  the  community,"  (Bryce  of.  cit.,  chap.  Ixviii.). 

«  Lectures  and  Essays  ("  On  the  Scientific  Basis  of  Morals"). 


I 


ii6 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  V. 


si„>pler  races  of  mankind,  we  shall  find  "O'  -   ^  ^^^J 
immediate  desires  play  a  far  larger  part  m  their  hves 
a^d  so  that  the  conception  of  self  is  less  used  and  less 
developed,  but  also  that  it  is  less  definite  and  more 
wide.     The  savage  is  not  only  hurt  when  anybody 
treads  on  his  foot,  but  when  anybody  treads  on  h.s 
tribe.     He  may  lose  his  hut,  and  his  w.fe,  and  his  op- 
portunities of  getting  food.     In  this  way.  the  tribe  be- 
comes naturally  included  in  that  conception   of  self 
which  renders  remote  desires  possible  by  making  them 
immediate."     "The  tribe,  qua  tribe,  has  to  exist,  and 
it  can  only  exist  by  aid  of  such  an  organic  ar  ifice  as 
the  conception  of  the  tribal  self  in  the  minds  of  its 
members.     Hence  the  natural  selection  of  those  races 
in  which  this  conception  is  the  most  powerful  and 
most  habitually  predominant  as  a  motive  over  imme- 
diate desires.     To  such  an  extent  has  this  proceeded 
that  we  may  fairly  doubt  whether  the  selfhood  of    he 
tribe  is  not  earlier  in  point  of  development  than  that  of 
the  individual.     In  the  process  of  time  it  becomes  a 
matter  of  hereditary  transmission,  and  is  thus  fixed  as 
a  specific  character  in  the  constitution  of  social  man. 
With  the  settlement  of  countries,  and  the  aggregation 
of  tribes  into  nations,  it  takes  a  wider  and  more  ab- 
stract form  ;  and  in  the  highest  natures  the  tribal  self  is 
incarnate  in   nothing  less  than  humanity.      Short  of 
these  heights,  it  places  itself  in  the  family  and  m  the 
city      I  shall  call  that  quality  or  disposition  of  man 
which  consists  in  the  supremacy  of  the  family  or  tribal 
self  as  a  mark  of  reference  for  motives  by  its  old  name 

Piety  J' 

Without  absolutely  subscribing  to  everything  that  is 
Stated  by  Clifford  in  this  connexion,  we  may  at  least 


§  3.]   THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    II7 

recognise  the  importance  of  the  point  that  he  here 
seeks  to  emphasise— z;/^.  the  solidarity  of  the  primitive 
moral  consciousness.  Man  does  not  at  first  naturally 
think  of  himself  as  an  independent  individual,  but 
rather  as  a  part  of  a  system  »  ;  and  this  system  may  in 
a  very  real  sense  be  called  a  '  'self,"  since  it  is  the  uni- 
verse to  which  the  individual  refers  the  conduct  of  his 
life.  It  is  here,  then,  that  we  find  the  earliest  basis  for 
the  moral  judgment ;  and,  in  stating  the  manner  of  its 
formation,  it  may  still  be  convenient  to  follow  the  mode 
of  statement  given  by  Clifford. 

§  3.  The  Origin  of  Conscience.  — "We  do  not  like 
a  man,"  Clifford  goes  on,    ''whose  character  is  such 
that  we  may  reasonably  expect   injuries   from    him. 
This  dislike  of  a  man  on  account  of  his  character  is  a 
more  complex  feeling  than  the  mere  dislike  of  separate 
injuries.     A  cat  likes  your  hand,  and  your  lap,  and  the 
food  you  give  her;   but  I  do  not  think  she  has  any 
conception   oi  you.     A  dog,    however,    may  Wke  you 
even  when  you  thrash  him,  though  he  does  not  like 
the  thrashing.     Now  such  likes  and  dislikes  may  be 
felt  by  the  tribal  self.     If  a  man  does  anything  gener- 
ally regarded  as  good  for  the  tribe,  my  tribal  self  may 
say,  in  the  first  place,  I  like  that  thing  that  you  have 
done.     By  such    common    approbation   of  individual 
acts,  the  influence  of  piety  as  a  motive  becomes  de- 
fined ;  and  natural  selection  will  in  the  long  run  pre- 
serve  those   tribes   which    have   approved    the   right 
things  ;  namely,  those  things  which  at  that  time  gave 
the  tribe  an  advantage  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 

1  It  may  be  noted  that  the  idea  of  tribal  unity  generally  embodies 
itself  in  the  image  of  a  tribal  god ;  and  the  religious  bond  tends  to 
become  more  and  more  important  in  giving  unity  to  the  system. 


ii8 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  V. 


But  in  the  second  place,  a  man  may  as  a  rule  and  con- 
stantly, being  actuated  by  piety,  do  good  things  for 
the  tribe ;  and  in  that  case  the  tribal  self  will  say,  I 
Wke jyou.  The  feeling  expressed  by  this  statement  on 
the  part  of  any  individual,  'In  the  name  of  the  tribe, 
I  like  you,'  is  what  I  call  approbation.  It  is  the  feeling 
produced  in  pious  individuals  by  that  sort  of  char- 
acter which  seems  to  them  beneficial  to  the  com- 
munity." 

' 'Now  suppose,  "  Clifford  proceeds,  ''that  a  man  has 
done  something  obviously  harmful  to  the  community. 
Either  some   immediate   desire,  or  his  individual   self, 
has   for   once   proved   stronger   than    the    tribal    self. 
When  the  tribal  self   wakes  up,  the  man  says,  '  In   the 
name  of  the  tribe,  I  do  not  like  this  thing  that  I,  as  an 
individual,  have  done.'   This  self-judgment  in  the  name 
of  the   tribe    is  called  Conscience.      If   the  man    goes 
further,  and  draws  from  this  act  and  others  an  infer- 
ence about   his  own  character,   he  may  say,  '  In  the 
name    of  the    tribe  I    do  not    like  my    individual   self.' 

This  is  remorse." 

All  this  ought  to  present  no  difficulty  to  the  student 
who  has  grasped  the  conception  of  the  different  Uni- 
verses within  which  we  live.  The  Universe,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  which  the  primitive  moral  judgment 
is  passed,  is  that  described  by  Clifford  as  "the  tribal 
self."  From  this  point  of  view  the  consciousness  of 
the  primitive  savage  passes  judgment  both  on  himself 
and  others  as  individuals  within  the  tribe.  And  on  the 
whole,  actions  are  judged  to  be  good  or  bad,  and  indi- 
viduals to  be  praiseworthy  or  blameworthy,  according 
as  they  tend  to  promote  or  to  impede  the  existence 
and  the  welfare  of  the  tribe. 


§  4.]    THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    II9 

§  4.  Custom  as  the  Moral  Standard. —We  must  not, 
however,  suppose  that  the  procedure  of  the  primitive 
man  is  quite  so  self-conscious  as  Clifford's  manner  of 
statement  might  seem  to  imply.  He  does  not  deliberately 
ask  himself  whether  his  conduct  is  or  is  not  of  such  a 
kind  as  to  promote  the  welfare  of  his  tribe.     Still  less 
does  he  ask  such  a  question  with  respect  to  his  general 
character  or  to  that  of  others.     What  happens  is  rather, 
as  we  have  already  indicated,  that   customary  modes 
of  action  grow  up  in  the  life  of  a  people,  that  those 
modes  of  action  that  are  favourable  to  its  welfare  tend 
on  the  whole  to  be  selected  and  preserved,  and  that 
those  modes  of  action  also  tend  on  the  whole  to  be  ap- 
proved.    In  thus  approving,  the  individual  puts  him- 
self at  the  point   of  view    of  his    tribe,  but  he    does  so 
unconsciously  ;  it  does  not  occur  to  him  that  it  would 
be  possible  for  him  to  take  up  any  other  point  of  view. 
Of  himself  as  an  independent  individual,  or  of  others 
as  independent  individuals,  he  has  not  yet  formed  any 
clear  conception.      Hence  also  it  is  not  quite  true  to  say 
that  he  passes  judgment  on  his  own  character  or  on  that 
of  others.     He  hardly  thinks  of  character.      He  judges 
actions.     Even  in  such  a  comparatively  advanced  stage 
of  the   moral   consciousness    as   that   represented   in 
Homer,  the   idea  of  a  general  judgment  on  character 
has  scarcely  emerged.     In  the  Iliad,  as  Seeley  has  re- 
marked,^   "the  distinction   between  right  and  wrong 
is  barely  recognised,  and  the  division  of  mankind  into 
the  good  and  the  bad  is  not  recognised  at  all.     It  has 
often  been  remarked  that  it  contains  no  villain.     The 
reason  of  this  is  not  that  the  poet  does  not  represent  his 
characters  as  doing  wicked  deeds,  for,  in  fact,  there  is 

1  Ecc6  Homo,  chap.  xix. 


I20 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  L,  CH.  V. 


not  one  among  them  who  is  not  capable  of  deeds  the 
most  atrocious  and  shameful.  But  the  poet  does  not 
regard  these  deeds  with  any  strong  disapprobation,  and 
the  feeling  of  moral  indignation  which  has  been  so 
strong  in  later  poets  was  in  him  so  feeble  that  he  is 
quite  incapable  of  hating  any  of  his  characters  for  their 
crimes.  He  can  no  more  conceive  the  notion  of  a 
villain  than  of  an  habitually  virtuous  man.  The  few 
deeds  that  he  recognises  as  wrong,  or  at  least  as  strange 
and  dangerous— killing  a  suppliant,  or  killing  a  father — 
he,  notwithstanding,  conceives  all  persons  alike  as  ca- 
pable of  perpetrating  under  the  influence  of  passion  or 
some  heaven-sent  bewilderment  of  the  understanding." 
In  such  a  state  of  society  there  are  things  which  "one 
does  not  do,"  actions  which  are  not  customary,  but 
there  is  hardly  anything  which  is  regarded  with  strong 
moral  disapprobation. 

§  5.  Positive  Law  as  the  Moral  Standard. — Gradu- 
ally, however,  as  we  have  seen.  Law  takes  the  place 
of  custom  in  the  control  of  conduct.  Along  with  this 
there  comes  a  certain  change  in  the  moral  judgment. 
When  "thou  shalt  not  do  "  takes  the  place  of  "one 
does  not  do,"  the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong 
is  made  more  precise  ;  and  a  more  definite  condemna- 
tion attaches  to  the  violation  of  that  which  is  recog- 
nised as  right.  In  the  early  stage  of  customary 
morality,  to  quote  Seeley  once  more,  "men,  easily 
tempted  into  crime,  flung  off"  the  effects  of  it  as  easily. 
Agamemnon,  after  violating  outrageously  the  right  of 
property,  has  but  to  say  daffd/iTjv,  *  My  mind  was  be- 
wildered/ and  the  excuse  is  sufficient  to  appease  his 
own  conscience,  and  is  accepted  by  the  public,  and 
even  by  the  injured   party  himself,  who   feels  himself 


§  6.]    THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    121 

equally  liable  to  such  temporary  mental  perplexities." 
"  After  the  introduction  of  law  crime  could  never  again 
be  thus  lightly  expiated  and  forgotten."  ''  By  the  law 
comes  the  knowledge  of  sin.  A  standard  of  action  is 
set  up,  which  serves  to  each  man  both  as  a  rule  of  life 
for  himself  and  a  rule  of  criticism  upon  his  neighbours. 
Then  comes  the  division  of  mankind  into  those  who 
habitually  conform  to  this  rule  and  those  who  violate 
it,  into  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  feelings  soon  spring 
up  to  sanction  the  classification,  feelings  of  respect  for 
the  one  class  and  hatred  for  the  other." 

§  6.  The  Moral  Law.— But  so  long  as  the  law  taken 
as'  the   moral  standard  is  not  definitely  distinguished 
from  the  positive  law  of  the  land,  the  moral  judgment 
is  not  yet  fully  formed.     The  positive  law  of  a  country 
is  directed  primarily  against  external  acts  prejudicial  to 
the  welfare  of  society,  whereas  the  moral  judgment  in 
its  fully  developed  form  has  reference  rather  to  men's  in- 
tentions,  motives,  and  characters,  than    to   their  mere 
external  performances.      Now  in  the  life  of  a  develop- 
ing people  this  distinction  gradually  emerges.     We  see 
it  perhaps  most  clearly  in  the  case  of  the  Jews,  when  the 
Ten  Commandments  become  definitely  distinguished 
from  the  ceremonial  and  civil  laws  of  the  country. 
These  Commandments  include  the  rule,  "  Thou  shalt 
not    covet,"    as   well   as  "Thou   shalt   not  steal,"  and 
thus  introduce  the  conception  of  a  judgment  to  be  passed 
on  the  inner  attitude  of  mind,  as  well  as  on  the  outer 
action.     As  the  moral  consciousness  develops,  this  con- 
ception becomes  more  and  more  pronounced. 

§  7.  Moral    Conflict.— When    moral    development 
has  arrived  at  such  a  stage  as  this,  certain  conflicts 


122 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  V. 


almost  inevitably  arise,  both  in  action  and  in  the  judg- 
ment that  is  passed  on  action.  In  primitive  societies 
each  man's  duty  is  comparatively  obvious.  There  is 
little  division  of  labour,  and  the  way  in  which  the 
welfare  of  the  tribe  is  to  be  promoted  can  seldom 
be  doubtful.  But  when  law  is  added  to  custom,  and 
moral  law  added  to  positive  law,  and  when  at  the  same 
time  a  man  finds  himself  occupying  many  different 
positions  within  his  society  (being,  for  instance,  at  once 
father,  soldier,  judge,  husbandman,  and  the  like),  the 
right  thing  to  do  on  a  given  occasion  is  not  always  so 
apparent.  Law  may  conflict  with  custom,  or  one  law 
with  another.  The  classical  instance  of  such  a  con- 
flict is  found  in  the  A?iligo7ie  of  Sophocles,  where  the 
definite  law  of  the  state  comes  into  collision  with  the 
more  customary  principle  of  family  affection.  Anti- 
gone prefers  the  latter,  because  it  is  of  immemorial 
antiquity  and  its  origin  cannot  be  traced,  whereas  the 
law  of  the  state  has  been  made  and  may  be  unmade 
again.  But  the  ultimate  result  of  such  a  conflict  is  to 
give  rise  to  reflection,  and  to  the  search  for  some 
deeper  standard  of  judgment. 

§  8.  The  Individual  Conscience  as  Standard. — Such 
a  standard  is  sometimes  sought  in  an  appeal  to  the 
heart  or  conscience  of  the  individual.  An  appeal  may 
be  made  from  the  outer  law  of  the  state  to  the  inner 
voice,  or  law  of  the  heart.  But  this  is  soon  found  to 
be  unsatisfactory,  inasmuch  as  the  conflicts  found  in 
the  outer  law  are  in  reality  repeated  in  the  inner  law. 
The  heart  may  attach  itself,  for  instance,  to  the  idea  of 
the  family,  but  it  may  also  attach  itself  to  the  idea  of 
the  state ;  and  devotion,  to  the  one  may  be  incom- 


1',-^ 


§  10.]  THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.  I23 

patible  with  devotion  to  the  other. '  We  are  accord- 
mgly  thrown  back  upon  reflective  analysis. 

§  9.  The  Growth  of  the  Reflective  Judgment. — It 
is  thus  that  men  are  gradually  led  to  ask  themselves 
what  is  the  real  basis  of  the  moral  judgment.  This 
question  inevitably  leads  to  the  attempt  to  construct 
some  sort  of  scientific  ethical  system.  It  may,  how- 
ever, for  a  time  stop  short  of  this,  and  merely  lead  to 
the  formulation  of  certain  fundamental  principles, 
without  any  definite  attempt  at  systematic  construc- 
tion. In  any  case  universal  principles,  applicable  to 
all  times  and  peoples  become  gradually  substituted  for 
the  customs  and  laws  of  particular  tribes  and  nations. 

§  10.  Illustrations  from  Ancient  Peoples. — The  de- 
velopment of  the   moral  judgment   is   perhaps   most 

1  Cf.  the  attitude  of  Blanche  in  Shakespeare's  play  of  King  John, 
(Act.  HI.,  scene  i)  :— 

'•  Which  is  the  side  that  I  must  go  withal  ? 
I  am  with  both  :  each  army  hath  a  hand  ; 
And  in  their  rage,  I  having  hold  of  both, 
They  whirl  asunder  and  dismember  me. 
Husband,  I  cannot  pray  that  thou  mayst  win  : 
Uncle,  I  needs  must  pray  that  thou  mayst  lose  ; 
Father,  I  may  not  wish  the  fortune  thine  ; 
Grandam,  I  will  not  wish  thy  wishes  thrive ; 
Whoever  wins,  on  that  side  shall  I  lose  ; 
Assured  loss  before  the  match  be  played." 

Here  the  puzzle  is— On  which  side  is  the  self  ?  On  which  side  is 
the  deepest  and  most  abiding  interest  ? 

Cf.  also  the  attitude  of  Desdemona  in  Othello— {Act  I.,  scene  3)  :— 

"  I  do  perceive  here  a  divided  duty." 

Indeed  it  is  out  of  such  conflict  that  all  the  most  profoundly  tragic 
situations  arise. 


124 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  T.,  CH.  V. 


easily  studied  in  the  great  nations  of  antiquity,  in 
which  there  was  less  interference  from  without  than  in 
the  case  of  most  modern  peoples. 

Among  the  Jews,  for  instance,  it  is  easy  to  trace  a 
development  from  the  customary  and  ceremonial  law, 
through  the  Ten  Commandments,  to  the  deeper  and 
more  inward  principles  represented  by  the  Psalms  and 
the  later  prophets.  The  idea  of  the  ''pure  heart" 
gradually  substitutes  itself  for  external  observances  ; 
and,  in  Christianity,  the  law  is  quite  definitely  super- 
seded by  the  idea  of  the  inner  principle  of  love.  When 
this  takes  place,  the  purely  national  character  of  the 
Jewish  morality  is  at  the  same  time  broken  down,  and 
it  becomes  a  morality  that  is  applicable  to  all  times  and 
peoples.  In  the  case  of  this  line  of  development,  how- 
ever, it  is  to  be  noted  that  every  step  takes  place,  as 
it  were,  by  a  new  enactment.  The  deeper  principle  is 
always  formulated  by  the  voice  of  some  prophet,  speak- 
ing more  or  less  definitely  in  the  name  of  *'the  Lord." 
The  idea  of  a  divine  law  remains  fundamental  through- 
out. Even  when  the  inner  principle  of  Christianity  is 
set  against  the  external  rules  of  the  older  system,  it  still 
appears  in  the  form  of  a  definite  enactment,  a  'New 
Commandment.'     "  It  was  said  by  them  of  old  time. 

.    .   .   .     But   I  say  unto  you "     The  appeal  is 

still  to  an  authoritative  law. 

Among  the  Greeks  the  case  is  very  different.  Here, 
indeed,  we  start  also  from  the  idea  of  law,  and  indeed 
of  divine  law.  But  it  is  a  law  that  is  never  distinctly 
formulated  in  a  code  of  commandments  ;  and  the 
process  of  its  development  is  different.  The  deeper 
principle  is  not  introduced  in  the  form  of  a  new  pro- 
phetic utterance,  but  in  the  form  of  a  reflective  inter- 


j 


§  lO.]  THE  GROWTH  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.  12$ 

pretation.      Men  begin  to   question  the  validity  of  the 
old  principles  of  action,  and  to  ask  themselves  how 
they  are  to  be  justified ;  and  this  soon  gives  rise  to 
reflective  systems  of  Ethics.     The  growth  of  these  will 
be  briefly  noticed  in  the  followhig  Book.     What  it  is 
important  to  observe,  however,  is  that,  different  as  this 
course  of  development  is  from  that  found  among  the 
Hebrews,  it  leads,  nevertheless,  to  substantially  similar 
results.     Here  also  the  growth  is  one  from  external  ob- 
servances to  the  idea  of  action  based  on  principle— from 
the  idea  of  duty  done  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  the  state 
to  that  of  duty  done  rod  xaXoo  hem,  for  the  sake  of  the 
beauty  or  nobility  of  it.     At  the  same  time  there  is  a 
gradual  advance  from  the  idea  of  a  kind  of  life  which  is 
possible  only  for  the  Greek,  and  not  for  the  Barbarian, 
to  the  idea  (which  becomes  especially  prominent  among 
the  Stoics)  of  a  kind  of  life  which  is  simply  human,  and 
which  belongs  to  all  mankind  as  citizens  of  the  world. 
Among  the   Romans  nothing  quite  similar  can  be 
traced.     In  their  later  life  they  were  too  much  influenced 
by  Greek  thought  for  anything  quite  spontaneous  to 
arise  among   themselves.      But  we    see  something  of 
the  same  sort  in  the  development  of  their  law.     Roman 
law  is  at  first  simply  Roman,  and  rests  on  no  definite 
principle.      By  the  help  of  the  stoical  philosophy,  how- 
ever, they  gradually  introduced  an  inner  principle  into 
it,   and  in  so  doing  made  it  cease  to  be  Roman  Law. 
and  become  the  Law  of  the  world. 

Thus,  these  three  peoples  gradually  developed  from 
their  national  institutions  a  universal  religion,  a  uni- 
versal science,  and  a  universal  law,  at  the  same  time 
as  they  substituted  an  inner  principle  of  action  for  a 
merely  external  obedience  to  their  laws. 


126 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  V. 


§  I.]   SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    12/ 


§  11.  General  Nature  of  Moral  Development. — From 
this  brief  sketch  the  general  nature  of  the  development 
of  the  moral  judgment  may  be  more  or  less  apparent. 
The  following  features  may  be  specially  noted  : — 

(i)  It  develops  from  customs,  through  law,  to  reflec- 
tive principles. 

(2)  It  develops  from  the  judgment  on  external  acts 
to  the  judgment  on  the  inner  purpose  and  character. 

(3)  It  develops  from  ideas  peculiar  to  the  circum- 
stances of  particular  tribes  and  nations  to  ideas  that 
have  a  universal  validity. 

Having  thus  indicated  the  general  nature  of  the  de- 
velopment of  the  moral  judgment,  we  may  now  be  in 
a  position  to  consider  the  essential  elements  involved 
in  that  judgment  in  its  fully  developed  form. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    SIGNIFICANCE    OF   THE    MORAL   JUDGMENT. 

^  1.  The  Nature  of  the  Moral  Judgment.— From  the 
statements  that  have  now  been  made,  the  general  na- 
ture of  the  moral  judgment  ought  to  be  to  a  consider- 
able extent  apparent ;  but  there  are  still  some  questions 
that  it  is   important  to  ask   with   respect  to  its   fully 
developed  content  and  significance.     These  questions 
will  naturally  fall  under  two  distinct  heads.     It  is  evi- 
dent, in  the  first  place,  that  the  moral  judgment  is  not 
simply  of  the  nature  of  what  is  called  a  judgment  in 
Logic.     It  is  not  merely  a  judgment  about,  but  a  judg- 
ment upon.     It   does  not  merely  state  the  nature  of 
some  object,  but  compares  it  with  a  standard,  and  by 
means  of  this  standard  pronounces  it  to  be  good  or  evil, 
right  or  wrong.     This  is  what  is  meant  in  saying  that 
the  moral  point  of  view  is  normative.     Now  it  follows 
from  this  that  there  are  two  main  questions  to  be  asked 
_-(i)  What  is  the  object  upon  which  judgment  is  pro- 
nounced?—(2)  What  is  the  point  of  view  from  which 
such   a  judgment  is  possible.?     The  consideration  of 
these  questions  will  naturally  lead  us  up  to  the  consid- 
eration of  the  precise  nature  of  the  standard,  which  is 
to  be  the  subject  of  the  following  book. 

The  two  questions  which  we  have  now  to  consider 
may  be  briefly  expressed  as  follows  :-(i)  What  is  the 
object  of  the  moral  judgment .?  (2)  What  is  the  subject 
of  the  moral  judgment  ? 


128 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  VI. 


§  2.  The  Object  of  the  Moral  Judgment. — In  a  general 
way  the  nature  of  the  object  upon  which  the  moral 
judgment  is  passed  is  clear  enough.  The  object  is 
voluntary  action.  It  is  with  this,  as  we  have  seen, 
that  Ethics  is  concerned  throughout.  It  has  to  do  with 
the  right  direction  of  the  will.  The  moral  judgments 
which  we  pass  are,  in  like  manner,  concerned  with  the 
will.  Whatever  is  not  willed,  has  no  moral  quality. 
An  avalanche  rolling  down  a  mountain  may  devastate 
a  village  ;  a  shower  may  save  a  nation  from  famine  : 
but  we  do  not  judge  either  the  one  or  the  other  to  be 
morally  bad  or  good.  In  like  manner,  we  do  not  pass 
moral  judgments  on  tigers  or  horses  for  their  raviigcs 
or  for  their  services,  so  long  as  we  regard  these  as 
dictated  by  mere  instinct,  without  volition.  When  we 
praise  or  blame  them,  we  do  it  under  the  tacit  assump- 
tion that  their  acts  were  voluntary.  Moral  judgments, 
then,  are  not  passed  upon  all  sorts  of  things,  nor  even 
upon  all  sorts  of  activities,  but  only  upon  conduct. 

§  3.  The  Good  W^ill. — We  are  thus  led  to  the  famous 
declaration  with  which  Kant  opened  his  great  treatise 
on  Ethics.'  He  begins  it  by  saying  that  "there  is 
nothing  in  the  world,  or  even  out  of  it,  that  can  be 
called  good  without  qualification,  except  a  good  will." 
The  gifts  of  fortune,  he  said,  and  the  happiness  w^hich 
they  bring  with  them,  are  to  be  regarded  as  good  only 
on  condition  that  they  are  rightly  used.  Talents  and 
worldly  wisdom  are,  in  like  manner,  good  only  when 
they  are  subordinated  to  the  attainment  of  high  aims. 
These  things  are  only  conditionally  good.  But  a  good 
will  is  good  without  condition.  It  is,  as  Kant  said,  the 
only  jewel  that  shines  by  its  own  light. 

1  Metaphysic  of  Morals,  section  I. 


)- 


\ 


§3.]    SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    1 29 

But  in  thus  commending  the  good  will  as  supremely 
good,  and  regarding  it  as  the  ultimate  object  approved 
by  the  moral  judgment,  we  must  be  careful  to  distin- 
guish will  from  mere  wish.  ''Hell,"  it  is  said,  ''is 
paved  with  good  intentions."  A  good  will  is  not 
merely  3.  good  iiiteniion,  in  the  sense  in  which  we  dis- 
tinguish an  intention  from  a  fully  formed  purpose, '  but 
a  determined  effort  to  produce  a  good  result — though  it 
may  be  an  effort  that  has  still  to  wait  for  its  appro- 
priate opportunity  of  issuing  in  overt  action.  Such  an 
effort  is,  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  supremely  good, 
even  if,  from  some  unforeseen  contingencies,  the  good 
result  "is  not  itself  achieved.  A  good  wish  is  merely 
the  consciousness  that  the  attainment  of  a  certain  end 
would  give  satisfaction  :  a  good  will  is  the  identifica- 
tion of  oneself  w^ith  that  end. 

But  again,  w^hen  we  say  that  a  good  will  is  supremely 
good,  even  if  it  fails  to  achieve  a  good  result,  it  ought 
not  to  be  supposed  that  a  good  will  can  actually  fail  to 
issue  in  a  good  action — if,  at  least,  it  issues  in  action  at 
all.  2  Will  and  act,  when  there  is  an  act  at  all,  are  but  the 
inner  and  outer  side  of  the  same  phenomenon.  A  good 
will  issues  in  a  good  action  ;  and,  conversely,  there  can 
be  no  good  action  without  a  good  will.  But  an  action 
which  in  itself  is  good  may  lead,  through  the  interfer- 
ence of  other  circumstances,  to  a  bad  result ;  and  a  bad 
action  may  lead  to  a  good  result.  "The  morality  of 
an  action,"  said  Dr.  Johnson,  3  "  depends  on  the  motive 

1  /.  e.,  the  sense  in  which  we  distinguish  Wish  from  Will.  The 
term  "  Intention  "  is  here  used  in  a  sense  somewhat  different  from 
that  explained  in  Chapter  i.  of  the  present  Book. 

*  Cf.  above,  Book  I.,  chap,  i.,  59. 

8  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Vol.  I; 

Eth.  9 


'30  ETHICS.  [BK.  I.,  CH.  VI. 

from  which  we  act.     If  I  flinj,rhaIf-a-crown  to  a  beggar 
with  intention  to  brealc  his  head,  and  he  picks  it  up  and 
buys  victuals  with  it,  tlie  physical  effect  is  good,  but, 
with  respect  to  me,  the  action  is  very  wrong. "    On  the 
other  hand,  an  act  in  itself  good  may  be  perverted  to 
evil  ends.      "  You  taught  me  language,"  says  Caliban 
to  Prospero,    "and  my  profit  on't  is,  I    know  how  to 
curse.  ■•     He  who  benefits  another  may  be  only  nour- 
ishing a  snake.     What  constitutes  the  goodness  of  an 
action  IS  the  goodness  of  the   intention  ;    but  a  good 
intention,  though  it  produces  a  good  action,  need  not 
produce  a  good  result.     A  result  is  generally  a  resultant 
of  several  causes,  of  which  the  will  of  any  particular 
agent  is  only  one.' 

§  4.  Judgment  on  Act  and  o.n  Agent.— So  far  there  is 
no  difficulty.     But  it  is  necessary  now  to  draw  a  dis- 
tinction between  two  forms  in  which  the  moral  judg- 
ment is  passed.     We  may  judge  a  mans  actions,  or  we 
may  judge  the  man  himself     It  can  hardly  be  doubted 
that  both  these  forms  of  judgment  are  to  be  found  even 
at  the  most  developed  stage  of  the  moral  consciousness 
that  has  yet  been  reached.    The  distinction  corresponds 
in  the  main,  to  that  between  Right  and  Good.     Some 
of  a  man  s  actions  may  be  right,  and  yet  we  may  not 

the  good  or  evil  in  rte   no Hvl    f         ".°  '""  ''"'""  '"  '1°"'"  '"at 
the  fiood  or  evi    in  ;,.    '         *  "'  ^"  *'^"°"  *^  ^-^^'^"y  measured  by 


§5.]    SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    13I 

judge  him  to  be  a  good  man,  and  vice  versa.  We  some- 
times, that  is  to  say,  judge  character,  and  sometimes 
will  in  the  narrower  sense.  Now,  with  respect  to  the 
judgment  on  character  no  particular  difficulty  seems  to 
arise.  We  judge  men's  characters  by  the  degree  in  which 
the  total  content  of  their  moral  consciousness  tends 
towards  the  realisation  of  the  highest  end,  whatever 
that  may  be  conceived  to  be.  It  is  not  so  easy,  how- 
ever, to  say  what  it  is  that  we  judge  when  we  judge  an 
act  rather  than  an  agent.  We  do  not  judge  the  act  by 
its  result,  but  by  the  purpose  of  the  agent.  On  this  all 
are  agreed.  But  it  remains  to  be  asked  whether  we 
judge  it  by  the  whole  intention  involved  in  it,  or  rather 
by  that  part  of  the  intention  which  is  described  as  the 
motive.  On  this  point  there  is  considerable  difference 
of  opinion,  and  the  question  is  further  complicated  by 
a  want  of  uniformity  in  the  interpretation  of  the  terms 
Intention  and  Motive. 

§  5.  Is  THE  Moral  Judgment  concerned  with  Motives 
OR  WITH  Intentions  .? — The  controversy  on  this  subject  * 
has  been  carried  on  chiefly  between  writers  of  the  in- 
tuitional and  the  utilitarian  school.'  The  former  have 
generally  maintained  that  the  moral  judgment  is  con- 
cerned entirely  with  the  motives  of  our  actions,  that 
our  actions  are  to  be  pronounced  good  or  bad  in  pro- 
portion to  the  goodness  or  badness  of  the  motives  by 
which  we  are  actuated  in  doing  them.  Thus  Dr.  Mar- 
tineau,  the  most  eminent  of  recent  intuitionist  writers, 


1  This  subject  is  well  treated  by  Prof.  Dewey  in  his  Outlines  oj 
Ethics,  pp.  4-6,  and  more  fully  in  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp. 
57-62. 

2  The  nature  of  these  two  schools  will  become  apparent  in  the 
sequel. 


132 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  VI. 


has  drawn  out  an  elaborate  table  of  the  motives  of  our 
conduct,  and  arranged  them  in  order  of  merit.'  He 
places  reverence  at  the  top,  and  censoriousness,  vin- 
dictiveness,  and  suspiciousness  at  the  bottom,  while 
between  these  lie  a  great  variety  of  passions,  appetites, 
affections,  sentiments,  etc.  ;  such  as  love  of  ease,  fear, 
ambition,  generosity,  and  compassion.  Now  to  dis- 
cuss the  merits  of  such  a  scheme  as  this  would  evi- 
dently carry  us  beyond  the  limits  of  such  a  handbook 
as  the  present.  Two  criticisms,  however,  may  be 
passed  upon  it.  In  the  first  place,  the  list  of  motives, 
or  ''springs  of  action  "  (as  they  are  also  called),  seems 
to  rest  on  a  false  conception  of  psychological  divisions. 
The  student  of  psychology  will  probably  have  become 
familiar  with  this  objection.  Modern  Psychology 
treats  the  human  mind  as  an  organic  unity,  and  repu- 
diates any  hard  and  fast  distinctions  of  faculties,  such 
as  seem  to  be  implied  in  Dr.  Martineau's  list.  The 
motives  which  he  enumerates  are  not  simple,  but 
highly  complex,  phenomena  ;  and  their  merits  in  any 
particular  case  would  depend  on  the  way  in  which 
they  are  composed.  Fear,  for  instance,  is  not  a  simple 
element  in  consciousness,  but  a  complex  state  ;  and 
its  merit  or  demerit  depends  on  the  way  in  which  we 
fear  and  the  thing  of  which  we  are  afraid.  The  same 
applies  to  ambition,  and  to  most  of  the  other  motives 
enumerated  by  Dr.  Martineau.  But,  apart  from  this, 
the  list  seems  to  involve  that  confusion  between  the 
different  senses  of  the  term  ' '  motive  "  to  which  refer- 


^  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  Part  II.,  Book  I.,  chap.  vi.  A  criticism 
of  Martineau's  doctrine  will  be  found  in  Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics, 
Book  III.,  chap.  xii. 


t 


I 


§5.]    SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    1 33 

ence  has  already  been  made.     Thus  fear  and  compas- 
sion,  though  referring  to  objects,   may  be  treated  as 
emotional  states  ;  whereas  ambition  does  not  denote  a 
state  of  feeling,  but  rather  an  object  aimed  at— not  in- 
deed a  definite  object,  but  a  range  of  objects  almost 
infinite  in  variety  (from  the  desire  to  be  Mayor  of  a 
town  to  the  desire  to  be  the  saviour  of  one's  country), 
having  only  in  common  the  desire  of  some  form  of 
personal  eminence.     Now  mere  feelings  in  the  mind, 
such  as  fear  and  compassion,  do  not  seem,  as  I  have 
already  indicated,  to  constitute  motives  at  all,  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  term  :   they  are  not  inducements 
to  action.     What  induces  us  to  act  is  the  presentation 
of  some  end  to  be  attainea.     Consequently,  if  we  are 
to  have  a  list  of  motives,  this  list  should  take  the  form 
rather  of  a  classification  of  ends  to  be  attained,  than 
of  feelings  that  exist  in  our  minds.     Further,  these  ends 
would  have  to  be  arranged,  not  under  any  such  ab- 
stract headings  as   -ambition"  and  the  like,   but  in 
accordance  with  their  actual,  concrete  nature. 

The  antagonism  of  the  utilitarians  seems  to  be  partly 
due  to  the  inadequacy  of  the  intuitionist  theory.  Thus 
Mill  urges'  that  ''the  morality  of  an  action  depends 
entirely  upon  the  intention-that  is,  upon  what  the 
agent  wt7ls  to  do.  But  the  motive,  that  is,  the  feehng 
which  makes  him  will  so  to  do,  when  it  makes  no 
difference  in  the  act,  makes  none  in  the  morality  : 
though  it  makes  a  great  difference  in  our  moral  esti- 
mation of  the  agent,  especially  if  it  indicates  a  good 
or  a  bad  habitual  dispositionr  '^The  motive  of  an 
action,"  he  says  again, ^  ^  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 


111 


Utilitarianism,  chap,  ii.,  p.  27,  note. 


2  Ibid.,  p.  261 


iv% 


134 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CII.  VI. 


morality  of  the  action,  though  much  with  the  worth  of 
the  agent."     The  reasonableness  of  this  view  is  ap- 
parent.    If  one  man  is  animated  by  compassion  and 
another  by  fear,    we   may  think  the  former  a  more 
amiable  man  and  the  latter  a  more  cowardly  man  : 
but  if  they  are  led  to  act  in  precisely  the  same  way, 
must  not  their  actions  be  regarded  as  equally  good  or 
bad  ?     They  are  not  perhaps  equally  good  7nen  ;  but 
that  is  not  the  question.      A  good  man  may  do  a  bad 
action,  and  a  bad  man  may  do  a  good  action.     The 
question   is  simply— Are  their  actions  good  or  bad? 
How   they  feel   in   doing   the   actions   may  affect   our 
judgment  of  their  characters,  of  their  lives  as  a  whole, 
but  not  of  their  particular  actions.      Of  course  if  their 
actions  are  different  in  consequence  of  their  feelings— 
if,   for  instance,   the  man  who  feels  compassion  does 
the  act  in  a  more  gracious  way,  and  the  man  who  feels 
fear  does  it  in  a  hurried  and  awkward  way— our  moral 
judgment  upon  the  actions  will  be  different.     But  the 
reason  is  that  in  this  case  the  feeling  has  to  some  ex- 
tent affected  the  nature  of  the  act  that  is  willed.     This 
is  Mill's  view  ;  and  it  is  evidently  a  reasonable  view, 
so  far  as  it  goes.     Nevertheless,  it  appears  to  me  to  be 
erroneous. 

5  6.  The  Moral  Judgment  is  partly  concerned  with 
Motives.— So  long  indeed  as  the  reference  is  merely  to 
the  feelings  by  which  our  actions  are  accompanied, 
there  is  no  need  to  dispute  Mill's  position.  ^  But  if  we 
understand  the  motive  to  mean  that  which  induces  us 

1  Of  course  the  nature  of  our  feelings  is  ultimately  determined  bv 
the  nature  of  the  ends  that  we  have  in  view,  and  consequently  in 
disputmg  the  one  position  we  are  in  reality  disputing  the  other  as 
well. 


\ 


§6.1    SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    135 

to  act  in  a  particular  way,  then  I  think  we  must  main- 
tain that  it  is  on  the  motive  that  the  moral  judgment 
is  passed,  or  at  least  that  the  motive  is  properly  taken 
into  account  in  passing  judgment.  Mill's  error  seems 
to  arise  from  this,  that  he  supposes  the  moral  judgment 
to  be  passed  on  things  done,  whereas  the  moral  judg- 
ment is  not  properly  passed  upon  a  nii7ig  done,  but 
upon  a  person  doing.  If  it  were  not  so,  we  should 
pass  moral  judgment  on  the  instinctive  acts  of  animals, 
and  even  on  the  movements  of  rocks,  •  clouds,  and 
avalanches.  What  we  judge  is  conduct ;  and  this 
means  not  merely  an  overt  act,  but  the  attitude  of  a 
person  in  acting  ;  and  his  attitude  must  include  his 
motive.  Now  Mill  himself  admits  that  the  motive 
(even  in  the  sense  of  the  mere  feeling,  and  surely 
much  more  in  the  sense  of  the  end  with  reference  to 
which  we  are  induced  to  act)  makes  a  difference  in 
our  estimation  of  the  agent.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in 
passing  a  moral  judgment  upon  a  particular  act  we 
need  not  take  account  of  the  whole  character  of  the 
man  who  does  it.  If  a  man  gets  drunk,  or  tells  a  lie, 
or  defrauds  his  neighbour,  we  can  say  that  he  has  done 
wrong,  without  needing  to  inquire  whether  he  is  in 
other  respects  a  good  man  or  a  bad.  But  this  does 
not  imply  that  we  judge  his  action  simply  from  the 
outside,  as  a  thing  done.  It  is  the  man  doing  it  that 
we  judge  ;  and  the  question,  what  induced  him  to  do 
it,  is  not  irrelevant  to  this  judgment.  It  may  be  ad- 
mitted that  we  frequently  omit  this  inner  side  of  a 
man's  conduct  in  forming  our  judgments.  But  the 
reason  is,  that  it  is  so  difficult  to  ascertain  what  the 
inner  side  is.  With  regard  to  all  men's  actions  (except 
our  own), 


M 


13^ 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  VI. 


One  point  must  still  be  greatly  dark, 
The  moving  ivhy  they  do  it." 


f\ 


Hence  the  force  of  the  precept  "judge  not !  "  But  in 
so  far  as  we  do  judge,  when  we  try  to  be  thoroughly- 
just  in  our  moral  appreciations,  it  seems  unquestion- 
able that  we  take  account  of  the  motive,  and  that  this 
is  what  we  are  bound  to  take  account  of. ' 

It  may  be  objected,  of  course,  that  a  man's  motives 
are  sometimes  excellent,  while  yet  we  feel  bound  to 
condemn  his  actions.  Some  fanatics,  for  instance, 
have  performed  acts  of  the  utmost  atrocity,  "thinking 
that  they  did  God  service."  Are  we  to  approve  these 
actions,  it  may  be  asked,  because  the  end  aimed  at 
was  good }  In  answering  this  question,  we  must  be 
sure  that  we  understand  exactly  what  the  question  is. 
Are  we  to  understand  that  we  are  asked.  Whether,  in 
the  case  of  such  actions,  we  regard  the  thing  done  as 

1  An  example  may  help  to  make  this  clear.     It  has  been  urged 
that  if  it  is  just  to  put  a  man  to  death,  this  act  will  not  be  rendered 
vicious  by  the  mere  fact  that  the  execution  of  it  is  accompanied  by  a 
feeling  of  resentment  or  malevolence.     Certainly,  I  should  answer 
the  mere  feeling  of  resentment  will  make  no  difference  in  the 
morality  of  the  action,  any  more  than  a  feeling  of  reluctance  or  a 
feeling  of  weariness.    But  it  is  otherwise  if  the  gratification  of  the 
feeling  was  the  motive  of  the  act.     If  a  judge  were  to  condemn  a 
criminal  to  death,  not  because  it  is  just,  but  because  he  feels  resent- 
ment, and  aims  at  the  i^nitification  of  this  feeling,  then  undoubtedly 
his  action  would  be  wrong,  though  the  result  of  it  might  accidentally 
be  right-/,  e.  it  might  be  the  case  that  the  criminal  ought  to  have 
been  put  to  death.    Of  course  in  such  a  case  the  intention  is  wrong 
as  well  as  the  motive.    This  is  necessarily  so  ;  for  the  motive  is  part 
of  the  intention.    In  the  case  supposed,  it  is  part  of  the  judge's  in- 
tention (his  inner  intention,  as  I  have  called  it)  to  gratify  his  feeling 
of  resentment.    But  if  this  had  not  been  part  of  his  motive,  it  would 
not  have  vitiated  his  action-/,  r.  if  it  had  not  been  part  of  his  induce- 
ment. 


I 

T 


§  /.]    SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    I  37 

a  desirable  result .''  If  so,  our  answer  would  no  doubt 
be  decidedly,  No.  In  the  same  way  we  should  say 
that  the  fall  of  an  avalanche  is  not  a  desirable  result, 
y  But  in  neither  case  is  our  judgment  a  wora/ judgment. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  we  are  asked  whether  we  con- 
sider that  the  fanatics  in  question  acted  rightly,  then 
we  must  answer  that,  in  so  far  as  they  were  aiming 
steadfastly  at  a  definite  end,  and  in  so  far  as  that  end 
was  a  good  one,  we  must  approve  of  their  actions.  As 
a  rule,  indeed,  we  shall  not  entirely  approve  of  them  ; 
but  the  reason  is  that  we  do  not  regard  their  aims  as 
perfectly  good.  This  is  implied  in  calling  them  fanatics. 
A  fanatic  is  one  who  pursues  some  narrow  end  as  if  it 
were  the  supreme  good.  The  motive  of  such  a  man  is 
not  the  best  possible,  and  the  more  conscientiously  he 
is  guided  by  that  motive  the  more  certainly  will  his 
actions  not  be  the  best  possible. 

§  7.  But  the  Judgment  is  really  on  Character.  — It 
appears  from  this,  however,  that  it  is  only  in  a  some- 
what strained  sense  that  the  judgment  can  be  said  to 
be  passed  either  on  the  intention  or  on  the  motive 
alone.  The  truth  seems  to  be  rather  that  the  fully  de- 
veloped moral  judgment  is  always  pronounced,  directly 
or  indirectly,  on  the  character  of  the  agent.  That  is  to 
say,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  it  is  never  simply  on 
a  thing  done,  but  always  on  a  person  doing,  that  we 
pass  moral  judgment.  It  is  true  that,  in  some  cases, 
we  may  have  regard  only  to  the  person  as  doing  this  one 
particular  action,  while  in  other  cases  we  may  think 
of  him  as  having  general  habits  of  action.  But  in  all 
cases,  when  we  are  passing  a  strictly  moral  judgment, 
we  think  of  the  action,  not  as  an  isolated  event,  but  as 
part  of  a  system  of  life.      We  judge  its  significance  not 


f 


138 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  T.,  CH.  VI. 


in  the  abstract,  but  for  the  person  who  docs  it,  situated 
as  he  happens  to  be,  and  viewing  the  world  as  he  has 
learned  to  view  it.  Thus  we  judge  the  action  to  be 
good  or  evil  according  to  the  extent  to  which  the 
various  elements  in  the  whole  presented  content  serve 
as  inducements  to  act  or  to  refrain  from  acting.  In 
thus  regarding  the  action,  we  are  judging  the  whole 
intention,  but  with  reference  to  the  extent  to  which  the 
various  elements  in  it  serve,  or  do  not  serve,  as  motives 
to  action.  Wc  thus  judge  the  motives,  both  positively 
and  negatively,  and  in  so  doing  judge  the  whole  inten- 
tion. Hence  it  is  somewhat  misleading  to  say  simply 
that  we   pass  judgment  either  on  the  intention  or  on 

the  motive. ' 

§8.  The  Subjfxt  of  the  Moral  Judgment.— Having 
thus  considered  the  precise  nature  of  the  object  upon 
which  the  moral  judgment  is  passed,  we  must  now  turn 
our  attention  to  the  subject  of  the  moral  judgment, 
i.  e.  to  the  point  of  view  from  which  an  action  is  judged 
to  be  good  or  bad.  In  a  sense,  every  man  may  be 
said  to  judge  his  own  action  to  be  good  at  the  moment 
when  he  does  it.  In  deliberately  choosing  to  do  it,  he 
pronounces  it  to  be  the  course  of  action  which  offers 
most  inducement  at  the  time.  By  what  right,  then, 
we  may  ask,  does  any  one  else  pronounce  it  to  be 
wrong  .^  Or,  how  does  it  happen  that  the  man  him- 
self, on  calm  reflection,  judges  his  action  to  fall  short 
of  an  ideal  standard  }     The  answer  is  that  it  is  looked 

1  For  further  discussion  on  this  point,  the  student  may  be  referred 
to  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II..  chap,  ii.,  Book  III.,  chap, 
i.,  Book  IV.,  chap,  i.;  Martineau's  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  Part  II. 
Book  I.,  chap,  vi.,  §  15  ;  and  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  IV. 
Nos.  I  and  z 


§9.]    SIGNIFICA^'CE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    1 39 

at  from  a  different  point  of  view,  regarded  within  a 
different  universe  or  system,  from  that  from  which  the 
individual  was  regarding  it  when  he  decided  to  act  in 
that  particular  way.  But  there  are  an  indefinite  number 
of  universes  within  which  an  action  might  be  placed, 
an  indefinite  number  of  points  of  view  from  which  an 
action  or  an  agent  might  be  judged.  What  claim  has 
any  one  of  these  to  be  regarded  as  preferable  to  any 
other .? 

Now  to  give  any  complete  answer  to  this  question 
would  involve  the  discussion  of  the  various  theories  of 
morals,  to  which  our  attention  is  to  be  directed  in  the 
next  Book.  But,  without  entering  into  this  discussion 
at  present,  it  may  be  profitable  to  notice  some  ways 
in  which  the  subject  of  the  moral  judgment  may  be 
conceived. 

§  9.  The  Moral  Connoisseur. — One  way  in  which 
we  may  help  ourselves  to  understand  it  is  by  calling 
to  our  aid  the  analogy  of  the  judgments  which  are 
passed  on  works  of  art.  We  say  that  a  poem  or  a  play 
or  a  novel  is  a  good  or  a  bad  artistic  product.  In  so 
saying,  we  are  passing  a  judgment  upon  it,  just  as  we 
do  when  we  say  that  an  action  is  good  or  bad.  Now 
from  what  point  of  view  is  such  a  judgment  pro- 
nounced .?  Not,  it  seems  clear,  from  that  of  the  person 
who  happens  at  the  time  to  be  reading  or  hearing  or 
seeing  the  artistic  product,  any  more  than  the  moral 
judgment  is  passed  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
individual  who  is  acting.  The  artist  appeals  from  the 
judgment  of  the  multitude  to  the  judgment  of  the 
skilled  and  sympathetic  critic'     Now  it  may  be  said 

J  "Like  Verdi  when,  at  his  worst  opera's  end 

(The  thing  they  gave  at  Florence— what's  its  name  ?j 


f 


140 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  T.,  CH.  VI. 


that  in  like  manner,  when  we  are  dealing  with  conduct, 
the  appeal  is  to  the  judgment  of  the  moral  connoisseur. 
This  is  the  view  of  the  Moral  Sense  School,  to  which 
we  shall  have  occasion  to  refer  in  the  sequel,  and  in 
particular  of  Shaftesbury,  its  most  notable  exponent. 
Without  discussing  the  point  of  view  of  that  School  at 
present,  it  suffices  to  say  here  that  it  hardly  seems  to 
furnish  us  with  a  satisfactory  answer  to  the  present 
question.     A  work    of  art  aims,  as  we  have   already 
noted,  at  the  production  of  a  certain  result.     The  skilled 
critic  is  the  only  judge  whether  such  a  result  has  been 
achieved.      ''We  musicians  know."     But  in  morals,  as 
we  have  seen,  it  is  rather  the  action  than  the  result 
that  is  judged.      Now  this  action,  if  it  is  a  real  action 
at  all,  has  been  already  judged  by  the  person  who  acts. 
He  has  deliberately  chosen  to  act  in  a  particular  way. 
Yet  his  action  is  judged  to  be  WTong,  and  judged  to  be 
wrong  not  merely  by  the  moral  connoisseur,  but  by 
himself  when  he  reflects  upon  it. 

§  10  The  Impartial  Spectator.— A  somewhat  more 
elaborate  theory  was  put  forward  by  Adam  Smith. 
His  theory  rests  upon  the  fact  of  sympathy,  to  which 
reference  has  already  been  made.  He  points  out  that 
'our  approval  or  disapproval  of  the  conduct  of  others 
depends  on  the  extent  to  which  we  are  able  to  sym- 
pathise with  them.  ''We  run,"  he  says,^  *'not  only 
to  congratulate  the  successful,  but  to  condole  with  the 

While  the  mad  houseful's  plaudits  near  out-bang 
His  orchestra  of  salt-box,  tongs  and  bones, 
He  looks  through  all  the  roaring  and  the  wreaths 
Where  sits  Rossini  patient  in  his  stall." 

Browning— B/s/io^  Bloiigrani's  Apology. 

1  Theory  of  the  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  I.,  Sect.  I.,  chap.  ii. 


I 


4 

i 


I 


§  10.]  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    I4I 

afflicted ;  and  the  pleasure  which  we  find  in  the  con- 
versation of  one  whom  in  all  the  passions  of  his  heart 
we  can   entirely  sympathise  with,  seems  to  do  more 
than  compensate  the  painfulness  of  that  sorrow  with 
which  the  view  of  his  situation  affects  us."     ''If  we 
hear  a  person  loudly  lamenting  his  misfortunes,  which, 
however,  upon  bringing  the  case  home  to  ourselves, 
we  feel  can  produce  no  such  violent  effect  upon  us, 
we  are  shocked  at  his  grief  ;  and,  because  we  cannot 
enter  into  it,  call  it  pusillanimity  and  weakness.     It 
gives  us  the  spleen,  on  the  other  hand,  to  see  another 
too  happy,  or  too  much  elevated,  as  we  call  it,  with 
any  Httle  piece  of  good  fortune.      We  are  disobliged 
even   with  his  joy  ;  and,  because  we  cannot  go  along 
with  it,  call  it  levity  and  folly.     We  are  even  put  out 
of  humour  if  our  companions  laugh  louder  or  longer  at 
a  joke  than  we  think  it  deserves  ;  that  is,  than  we  feel 
that  w^e  ourselves  could  laugh  at  it." 

"When,"  he  goes  on,'  "  the  original  passions  of  the 
person  principally  concerned  are  in  perfect  concord 
with  the  sympathetic  emotions  of  the  spectator,  they 
necessarily  appear  to  this  last  just  and  proper,  and 
suitable  to  their  objects  ;  and,  on  the  contrary,  when, 
upon  bringing  the  case  home  to  himself,  he  finds  that 
they  do  not  coincide  with  what  he  feels,  they  neces- 
sarily appear  to  him  unjust  and  improper,  and  unsuit- 
able to  the  causes  which  excite  them.  To  approve  of 
the  passions  of  another,  therefore,  as  suitable  to  their 
objects,  is  the  same  thing  as  to  observe  that  we  entirely 
sympathise  with  them  ;  and  not  to  approve  of  them  as 
such,  is  the  same  thing  as  to  observe  that  we  do  not 
entirely  sympathise  with  them.     The  man  who  resents 

1  Ibid.,  chap.  iii. 


142 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  VI. 


I 


the  injuries  that  have  been  done  to  me,  and  observes 
that  1  resent  them  precisely  as  he  does,  necessarily 
approves  of  my  resentment.     The  man   whose   sym- 
pathy keeps   time  to  my  grief,  cannot  but  admit  the 
reasonableness  of  my  sorrow.      He  who  admires  the 
same  poem,  or  the  same  picture,    and  admires  them 
exactly  as  I  do,  must  surely  allow  the  justness  of  my 
admiration.      He  who  laughs  at  the  same  joke,  and 
laughs  along  with  me,  cannot  well  deny  the  propriety 
of  my  laughter.     On  the  contrary,   the   person  who, 
upon   those  different  occasions,   either  feels    no    such 
emotion  as  that  which  I  feel,  or  feels  none  that  bears 
any  proportion  to  mine,    cannot  avoid   disapproving 
my  sentiments  on  account  of  their  dissonance  with  his 
own.     If  my  animosity  goes  beyond  what   the  indig- 
nation   of  my  friend  can  correspond   to  ;  if  my  grief 
exceeds    what    his    most   tender   compassion    can    go 
along  with  ;  if  my  admiration  is  either  too  high  or  too 
low  to  tally  with  his  own  ;  if  I  laugh  loud  and  heartily 
when   he  only  smiles,  or,  on  the  contrary,  only  smile 
when  he  laughs  loud  and  heartily  ;  in  all  these  cases, 
as  soon  as  he  comes   from  considering  the  object,  to 
observe  how  I  am  affected  by  it,  according  as  there  is 
more  or  less  disproportion  between  his  sentiments  and 
mine,  I  must  incur  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  his  dis- 
approbation ;  and   upon  all  occasions  his  own  senti- 
ments are  the  standards  and  measures  by  which   he 
judges  of  mine." 

It  follows  from  this  that  our  earliest  moral  judgments 
are  passed,  not  upon  ourselves,  but  upon  others. 
''Our  first  ideas,"  he  says,'  " of  personal  beauty  and 
deformity,  are  drawn  from  the  shape  and  appearance 

1/6/^/.,  Part  III.,  chap.  i. 


§10.]  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.    143 

of  others,  not  from   our  own.     We  soon  become  ser>- 
sible,  however,  that  others  exercise  the  same  cnticism 
upon    us."     "In   the   same  manner   our    first    mora 
criticisms  are  exercised  upon  the  character  and  conduct 
of  other  people ;    and  we  are  all   very   forward  to 
observe  how  each  of  these  affects  us.     But  we  soon 
learn  that  other  people  are  equally  frank  w.th  regard 
to  our  own.     We  become  anxious  to  ''"°^  ^ow  far 
we  deserve  their  censure  or  applause,  and  whether  to 
them    we    must    necessarily  appear  those    agreeaWe 
or  disagreeable  creatures  which  they  represent  us.     We 
begin    upon  this  account,  to  examine  our  own  passions 
a„5  conduct,  and  to  consider  how  these  must  appear 
to  them,  by  considering  how  they  would  appear  to  us 
if  in  their  situation.     We  suppose  ourselves  the  spec- 
tators of  our  own  behaviour,  and  endeavour  to  imagme 
what  effect  it  would,  in   this  light,  produce  upon  us. 
This  is  the  only   looking-glass  by  which  we  can,  m 
some  measure,  with  the  eyes  of  other  Pf °Pl^;Jf  "f '"^^ 
the  propriety  of  our  own  conduct.     If  m  this  view  it 
'plLs'es'us,  we  are  tolerably   satisfied.     We  can  be 
more    indifferent    about   the   applause,   and   m  some 
measure,  despise  the  censure  of  the  -o^^;    secure 
that    however  misunderstood  or   misrepresented,^  we 
are  the  natural  and  proper  objects  of  approbation. 

.'When  I  endeavour,"  he  goes  on,  "to  examine  my 
own  conduct,  when  I  endeavour  to  pass  sentence  upon 
it,  and  either  to  approve  or  condem^n  it,  '  -  evident 
that,  in  all  such  cases,  I  divide  myself,  as  't  were  into 
two  persons  ;  and  that  I,  the  exammer  and  judge,  re- 
pTesent  a  different  character  from  that  other  I  the 
person  whose  conduct  is  examined  into,  and  judged  of 
The  f^^^st  is  the  spectator,  whose  sentiments  with  regard 


i  f. 


144 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  VI. 


to  my  own  conduct  I  endeavour  to  get  .nto,  by  plac.ng 
myself  in  his  situation,  and  by  considering  how  it 
wS  appear  to  me,  when  seen  from  that  particular 
point  of  view.  The  second  is  the  agent ;  the  person 
whom  I  properly  call  myself,  and  of  whose  conduct, 
Tder  the  character  of  a  spectator,  I  was  endeavouring 
to  form  some  opinion.  The  first  is  the  judge  ;  the 
second  the  person  judged  of.  But  that  the  judge 
should,  in  every  respect,  be  the  same  with  the  person 
judged  of,  is  as  impossible,  as  that  the  cause  should, 
n  every  respect,  be  the  same  with  the  effect^ 

Adam  Smith  was  thus  led  to  the  idea  of  what  he 
called  the  "impartial  spectator,"  from  whose  pom    of 
view  our  moral  judgments  are  pronounced.     He  distin- 
guishes this  point  of  view  as  that  of  "  the  n.an  w.  hin, 
whose  judgments  are  opposed  to  those  of  the  "  man 
without  "    An  appeal,  he  says,-  Ues  from  the  opinions 
of  mankind  "  to  a  much  higher  tribunal,  to  the  tribunal 
of  their  own  consciences,  to  that  of  the  supposed  im- 
partial and  well-informed  spectator,  to  that  of  the  man 
within  the  breast,  the  great  judge  and  arbiter  of  their 

conduct."  ,  .  !■        „f 

8  11    The  Ideal  Self.— How  far  this  conception  ot 

an  "  impartial  spectator  "  is  valuable,  and  what  exactly 
is  to  be  meant  by  his  "  impartiality,"  we  cannot  here 
discuss.  I  have  given  this  reference  to  Adam  Smith 
merely  on  account  of  the  clearness  with  which  he  brings 
out  the  fact  that  our  moral  judgments  involve  a  certain 
reference  to  a  point  of  view  higher  than  that  of  the  in- 
dividual who  act&^an  appeal,  so  to  speak  from 
Philip  drunk  to  Philip  sober."  The  point  of  view  to 
which  an  appeal  is  thus  made  may  perhaps  be  most 

i/6irf.,  Part  III.,  chap.  ii. 


•  §11.]  SIGNIFICANCE  OF  THE  MORAL  JUDGMENT.  145 

fittingly  described  as  that  of  the  Ideal  Self.     At  early 
stages  of  development  it  corresponds  to  what  Clifford 
described  as  "  the  Tribal  Self."    The  normal  member 
of  the  tribe  ■  may  be  said  to  be  the  "  impartial  spectator 
to  whose  judgment  the  appeal   is   made^    At   more 
advanced  stages  of  human  development  the  nature  of 
the  Ideal  Self  becomes  more   complicated;   and   we 
cannot   discuss   it   satisfactorily   until    we   have   con- 
sidered  the   significance  of  the  moral    standard.     In 
the  meantime  this  much  seems  necessary  in  order  to 
bring  out  the  fact  that  in  the  moral  judgment  there  is 
an   appeal   from  the  Universe  of  the  individual  con- 
sciousness to  a  higher  or  more  comprehensive  system^ 
With  this  in  view,  we  are  now  able  to  proceed  to  the 
consideration   of  the   various   theories   of    the   moral 
standard. 
1  This  may  be  compared  with  the  view  of  the  "  normal  man," 

iJicoric. 


I 


Eth. 


10 


/, 


146 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  I.,  CH.  VL 


I.]      DEVELOPMENT  OF  ETHICAL  THOUGHT.        147 


Note  on  the  Meaning  of  Conscience. 
Throughout  this  chapter,  as  well  as  some  of  the  preceding,  we 
have  had  frequent  occasion  to  refer  to  conscience  ;  and  it  may  be 
well  at  this  point  to  explain  more  precisely  the  sense  (or  senses)  in 
which  this  term  is  used.    The  term  is  derived  from  the  Latin  con- 
scire,   to   be    conscious    (of    wrong).     The    Greek    (ruK€t67,<rt?,    the 
German  Gm/ssd:«,  and  the  old  English  Inwit/dYC  similar  in  meaning. 
Conscientia  used  to  be  employed  almost  indifferently  for  conscience 
and  for  consciousness  in  general  ;  and  in  English,  as  in  French.i  the 
term  conscience  is  occasionally  found  with  the  latter  meaning.     It 
is  in  this  sense  that  Milton  says,  referring  to  the  loss  of  his  eyes, 
"  What  supports  me  dost  thou  ask  ? 
The  conscience.  Friend,  to  have  lost  them  overplied 
In  liberty's  defence,  my  noble  task. 
Of  which  all  Europe  rings  from  side  to  side." 
But  even  here  there  is  perhaps  a  certain  implication  of  a  moral 
consciousness  ;  as  there  is  also  in  Hamlet's  saying, 

"Thus  conscience  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all," 
though  here  it  seems  to  mean  little  more  than  reflection.     In  Chau- 
cer's description  of  the  Prioress,  where  he  says, 

"  All  was  conscience  and  tender  heart," 

it  appears  almost  to  mean  sensibility.  But  the  definitely  moral 
sense  soon  became  established  in  English,  especially  under  the 
influence  of  such  writers  as  Butler.  Even  in  the  moral  sense  of  the 
term,  however,  there  is  some  ambiguity.  It  sometimes  means  a  feel- 
ing'of  pleasure  or  pain,  and  especially  a  feeling  of  pain,  accompany- 
ing the  violation  of  a  recognised  principle  of  duty.  At  other  times 
it  means  the  principle  of  judgment  by  which  we  pronounce  one 
action  or  one  kind  of  action,  to  be  right  and  another  wrong.  In  the 
latter  sense,  again,  it  may  refer  to  this  principle  of  judgment  as  it 
appears  in  a  particular  individual  or  in  a  body  of  men.  Such 
phrases  as  "  the  Non-Conformist  Conscience,"  "  the  Conscience  of 
Europe,"  and  the  like,  illustrate  this  use  of  the  term.  We  shall  have 
to  make  some  further  comments  on  the  nature  of  conscience,  espe- 
cially in  dealing  with  the  intuitional  school  of  morals  and  with  the 
social  nature  of  the  moral  consciousness.  But  this  much  seemed 
necessary  at  present  by  way  of  general  explanation  of  the  use  of 
the  term. 

1  Malebranche  and  some  other  French  writers  use  the  term  con- 
science more  particularly  in  the  sense  of  5^//-consciousness. 


i 


BOOK  II. 

THEORIES  OF  THE  MORAL  STANDARD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  DEVELOPMENT  OF  ETHICAL  THOUGHT. 

8  1.  Early  Greek  Ethics. -Thought   on  Ethics     as 
on  most    other    scientific  subjects,  first  took  definite 
shape  among  the  Greeks.  ■     Attention,  however,  was 
not  strongly  drawn  to  this  subject  till  a  considerable 
Ume  Ifter'plilosophical  thought  in  general  had  beg.m 
to  develop.     The  earliest  thinkers  among  the  Greeks 
directed  their  attention   chiefly  to  physica   inquiries- 
espec.ally  to  the  question,  What  is  the  world  made  of? 
Two  of  the  physical  philosophers,  however,  do  appear 
to  have  touched  with  some  definiteness  upon  the  ethical 
problem-....    Heraclitus  and  Democritus  (sometimes 
known  as  the   "weeping"  and  the  "laughing     philo- 
sopher). These  two  may  be  regarded  as  the  founders  of 
those  modes  of  thinking  which  afterwards  developed  n- 
to  Stoicism  and  Epicureanism  respectively.    Heraclitus 
took  Fire  as  his  fundamental  physical  pnnc.ple-r  e. 
the  bright  and  dry-and  he  seems  to  have  regarded 
this  as  incessantly  struggling  with  the  dark  and  moist 
principle  which  is  opposed  to  it.     In  the  life  of  man  he 

.  For  a  more  detailed  account  of  the  way  in  whMs  took  place. 
reference  should  be  made  to  Sidgwicks  H.story  of  Eth,cs. 


148 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  I. 


appears  to  have  thought  that  this  struggle  can  be  found 
going  on  ;  and  the  great  aim  of  the  moral  life  is  to 
secure  the  victory  for  the  bright  and  dry.  ' '  Keep  your 
soul  dry,"  was  with  him  the  fundamental  moral  law. 
Hence  also  the  saying,  so  often  quoted,  that  ''the  dry 
soul  [or  the  '  dry  light ']  is  the  best."  This  opposition 
of  the  moist  and  dry— the  ''blood  and  judgment  "  '— 
runs  througha  very  long  period  of  philosophic  thought. 
With  Democritus,  on  the  other  hand,  the  fundamental 
principle  of  morals  seems  to  have  been  pleasure.^  But 
there  is  no  evidence  that  either  of  these  philosophers 
made  any  attempt  to    develop    his  ethical  ideas  in   a 

systematic  form. 

§  2.  The  Sophists.— Parmenides  and  the  Pythago- 
reans, and  indeed  to  some  extent  all  the  early  phi- 
losophers, seem  also  to  have  touched,  either  in  a  purely 
theoretical  or  in  a  more  directly  practical  way,  upon  the 
ethical  and  political  side  of  speculation.  In  fact,  from 
quite  an  early  period,  philosophy  among  the  Greeks 
seems  to  have  come  to  mean  a  way  of  living  as  well 
as  a  way  of  thinking.3  But  it  was  that  remarkable 
group  of  teachers  known  as  the  Sophists  who  seem  first 
to  have  brought  the  ethical  problem  to  the  front.     The 

1  "  Blest  are  those 

Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  commingled. 
That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  fingers 
To  play  what  stop  she  pleases." 
On  the  views  of  Heraclitus,  see  Burnet's  Early  Greek  Philosophy, 

pp.  i3«.  139.  i7«>  179- 
2  Not,  however,  sensuous  pleasure.   It  was  rather  peace  or  irapaiia. 

Perhaps  his  point  of  view  might  be  compared  with  that  represented^ 
in  modern  times,  by  Dr.  Stanton  Coit  in  a  paper  in  Mind,  Old  Series, 
Vol.  XL,  p.  324  sqq. 

8  Thus  we  hear  of  the  "  Parmenidean  Life,"  of  the  Pythagorean 
rules  of  conduct,  &c.    C/.  Burnet,  op.  at,  pp.  29,  40,  182,  316. 


1 


§  3.]      DEVELOPMENT  OF  ETHICAL  THOUGHT.        I49 

aim  of  these  teachers  was  to  a  large  extent  practical, 
i  e.  it  was  the  aim  of  preparing  the  young   men  of 
Athens  to  be  efficient  citizens.     In   instructing  them  in 
the  duties  of  citizenship,   they  found  it  necessary  to 
inquire  into  the  basis  of  pohtical  obligation  and  of  social 
morality  in  general.     This  seems  to  have  been  done  by 
them  in  general  in  a  serious   and  candid  spirit ;    but, 
naturally  enough,   inquiries  of  this  kind  tended  to  be 
somewhat  subversive  of  the  older  moral  standards,  and 
the   more   conservative   minds   were  alarmed.      This 
alarm  found  expression  especially  in  the  satirical  drama 
of  Aristophanes  ;   and  as  Plato  also  shared,  to   a  con- 
siderable extent,the  unfavourable  view  thus  taken  of  the 
tendency  of  the  sophistic  teaching,    the  name  of  the 
Sophists  has  fallen  into  evil  odour.     Probably  this  is 
in  the  main  unjust— perhaps  in  pretty  much  the  same 
way    as   the    criticisms  of  such   men   as  Carlyle   and 
Ruskin  on  modern  science  were  often  unjust.     The 
Sophists  were  probably  the  most  enlightened  men  of 
their  day,  and  did  more  than  any  others  to  awaken  the 

intellectual  life  of  the  city. ' 

§  3.  Socrates.— Socrates  was  closely  associated  with 
the  Sophists,  and  indeed  was  regarded  by  Aristophanes 
as  the  typical  example  of  them.  He  was  distinguished, 
however,  from  most  of  the  others  by  the  fact  that  he 
did  not  set  himself  up  as  a  professional  teacher,  but 
rather  regarded  himself  throughout  his  life  as  a  student 
of  moral  science.  When  commended  by  the  oracle  for 
his  wisdom,  he  replied  that  it  consisted  only  in  know- 
ing his  own  ignorance.  By  this  attitude  he  displayed, 
perhaps  not  more  modesty  (for  his  modesty  w^as  at 

1  Reference  may  profitably:  be  made  to  the  articles  on  the  "  So- 
phists" and  "  Socrates"  in  the  EucyclopcvdiaBritamnca. 


1/ 


ISO 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  ClI.  I. 


least  in  part  ironical),  but    at  least  more  earnestness 
than  his  fellow-Sophists.     He  was  less  of  a  dogmatist 
because  he  was  more  clearly  aware  of  the  difticulty  of 
the  problem.     The  one  point  on   which  he  was  ful  y 
convinced  was  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  the  commonly 
received  explanations  of  the  moral  life,  and  the  neces- 
sity for  a  more  scientific  account.     He  believed  that 
this  was  necessary,  not  merely  for  the  satisfaction  o 
speculative   curiosity,    but   for   the  sake   of  practical 
morality      For  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  could  be  no 
true  morality  which  did  not  rest  on  a  scientific  basis. 
"  Virtue  "  he  said,  "is  knowledge  "  (or  is  science).    He 
believed  that  if  any  one  fully  understood  the  nature  of 
the  moral  end,  he  could  not  fail  to  pursue  it.     On   the 
other  hand,  he  conceived  that  if  any  one  did  not  fully 
understand  the  nature  of  the  moral  end,  he  could  not 
be  moral  except  by  accident  ;   and  this  is  not,   in   the 
full  sense,  morality  at  all.     Whatever  is  not  of  knowl- 
edge is  sin.'     As  to  the  nature  of  the  moral  end,  how- 
ever  Socrates  only  professed  to  be  an  inquirer.     The 
view  that  he  suggested  seems  sometimes  to  have  leaned 
to  Hedonism  ; '  but  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
he  had  explicitly  developed  any  theory  on  the  subject. 
The  fact  that  diverse  schools  arose,  claiming  him  as 

iThis  is  perhaps  a  slight  exaggeration.  But  Socrates,  like  Plato, 
maintained  that  to  be  temperate  or  courageous  without  knowledge 
is  to  be  temperate  by  a  kind  of  intemperance  or  courageous  by  a 
kind  of  cowardice.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  it  is  better  to 
do  wrong  consciously  than  unconsciously ;  since  the  former  mvolves 
at  least  the  knowledge  of  right    Cf.  Zeller's  Socrates  and  the  Socrattc 

^t'^l'v\iXdl' Protagoras  he  is  represented  as  definitely  putting  for- 
ward such  a  doctrine  ;  and  there  are  also  indications  of  the  same 
tendency  in  Xcnophon's  Memorabilia. 


§  5.]      DEVELOPMENT  OF  ETHICAL  THOUGHT.       Ijl 

niaster,  seems  to  aflord  some  evidence  that  his  view 
had  not  been  clearly  defined. 

7 i   The  Schools  of  Ethical THOUGHX.-Immediately 
after  "the  time  of  Socrates,  ethical  speculation  began  to 
;^  in  separate  schools,  which  with  variations  may  be 
said  to  have  lasted  even  down  to  our   own  d«y-     ^^e 
wo   most  distinctly  ethical  schools,    among  the    ol- 
lowers  of  Socrates,  were  those  of  the  Cynics  and    h 
Cyrenaics,  which  afterwards  gave  rise  *«  those  of  the 
Stoics  and  Epicureans.     The  members  of  these  schools 
axed  on   pits    connected   with    the    general  char- 
acter  and  influence  of  Socrates,    almost  as  much  as 
S  his  speculative  activity.     The  Cynics  were  struck 
Tith  his  independence  and  freedom  from  want ;   and 
they  made  this  their  fundamental  principle.     The  Cy- 
nics were  more  impressed  by  his  tact  and  skil   in 
making  the  most  of  his   surroundings.      The  Cynics 
were  'hus  led  to  asceticism,    and   the  Cyrenaics     o 
Hedonism.      These   two    tendencies    have    persisted 
fhroughout  almost  the  whole  course  of  ethical  specula- 

"75.  Plato  and  Aristotle. -But  in  the  meantime 
there  were  other  writers  who  made  more  definite  efforts 
o  connect  ethical  ideas  with  the  general  principles  o 
phSosophy,  and  so  to  get  beyond  the  one-sidedness  of 
opposing  schools.  Plato,  in  particular,  put  forward  a 
Je'taphysical  view  of  the  world,  upon  which  he  e.v- 
deavoured  to  rest  his  ethical  conceptions.  Hs  genera 
view  is  contained  in  what  is  known  as  the  theory  o 
lieas  or  Types.-     He  believed   that  the  fundamental 

1  v«       It  is  difficult  to  render  this  in  English.    The  word  "idea" 
1  E.S,.    It  IS  dimcuii  lo  .  J,  (h      gh  the  influence  of  Locke. 

KlTy  a^nrH^ftf  afJhthtxists  o'r  goes  on  in  our  head. 


152 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  I. 


|1 


reality  of  things  is  to  be  found  in  the  Type  to  which 
they  conform,  and  to  which  they  are  imperfect  approx- 
imations. Among  these  Types  he  held  that  the  most 
fundamental  is  the  Type  or  Idea  of  the  Good,  and  it  is 
in  approximating  to  this  that  the  ideal  of  virtue  is  to  be 
found.  To  understand  this  Type  it  is  necessary  to  go 
through  a  course  of  metaphysical  training  ;  and  hence 
the  highest  form  of  virtue  is  attainable  only  by  the 
philosopher.  Plato,  however,  recognised  also  a  lower 
form  of  virtue  which  can  be  cultivated  by  the  good 
citizen,  and  he  was  accordingly  led  to  analyse  the 
virtue  of  the  citizen.  Aristotle  carried  this  analysis 
further,  and  even  devoted  a  considerable  part  of  his 
great  work  on  Ethics  to  the  description  of  the  various 
aspects  of  the  virtuous  life  as  found  in  the  Athenian 
society  of  his  time,'  though  he  agreed  with  Plato  in 
thinking  that  the  highest  type  of  life  is  to  be  found  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  philosopher,  rather  than  in 
the  active  life  of  the  citizen.  The  opposition  thus  in- 
troduced between  the  life  of  the  philosopher  and  that 
of  the  ordinary  citizen  was  further  developed  by  the 
Stoics.  They  flourished  at  the  time  when  the  Greek 
City  State  was  decaying,  and  were  thus  not  able,  as 
Plato  and  Aristotle  had  been,  to  see  in  the  life  of  the 
citizen  the  type  of  an  ideal  self-realization.  Hence 
they  were  led  to  seek  for  the  highest  form  of  human 

Our  word  "  Ideal "  comes  nearer  to  the  Platonic  meaning,  provided 
we  remember  that  he  understands  it  to  signify,  not  an  unreal 
shadow-picture,  but  rather  the  most  real  of  all  things,  of  which  the 
existent  world  is  but  a  shadow  (or,  as  he  seems  to  have  generally 
conceived  it,  a  realization  in  an  imperfect  medium — the  viroBoxii  of 
the  Timcvns.)    Cf.  above,  p.  28,  note,  and  below,  pp.  266-7. 

1  This  species  of  Descriptive  Ethics  was  further  developed  by 
Theophrastus,  the  chief  of  Aristotle's  disciples.     See  his  Characters, 


/ 


'* 


I 


§  7.]      DEVELOPMENT  OF  ETHICAL  THOUGHT.        1 53 

life  in  the  perfect  independence  of  the  Sage,  rather 
than  in  the  activity  of  the  good  citizen.  A  similar  ten- 
dency appears  in  the  schools  of  the  Epicureans  and 
Sceptics.  It  was  only  with  the  advent  of  Christianity 
that  it  again  became  possible  to  conceive  of  an  ideal 
kingdom,  of  which  all  are  members,  and  in  which  even 
the  humblest  citizen  may  participate  by  faith,  though 
unable  to  understand  with  any  fulness  the  nature  of  the 
unity  within  which  his  life  is  passed. 

§  6.  Medieval  Ethics.— Mediaeval  ideas  on  Ethics ' 
were  much  influenced  by  those  of  Plato  and  Aristotle, 
but  partly  also  by  those  of  the  Stoics  and  by  concep- 
tions derived  from  Christianity.  The  more  religious 
aspects  of  morals  were  specially  developed  ;  and  a  good 
deal  of  attention  was  also  given  to  the  application  of 
ethical  ideas  to  the  guidance  of  the  individual  life. 
Casuistry  owed  its  origin  to  the  efforts  that  were  made 
in  the  latter  direction. 

§  7.  Schools  of  Ethics  in  Modern  Times.— The  de- 
velopment of  Ethics  in  modern  times  is  considerably 
more  complex,  and  we  can  only  indicate  some  of  its 
main  lines.     Descartes    is   generally  regarded   as   the 
founder  of  modern  philosophy  ;  but  his  interests  were 
mainly  metaphysical.     In  Ethics  he  and  his  school  did 
little  more  than  develop  the  ideas  of  the  Stoics,  to  which 
they  were  specially  attracted  in  consequence  of  the 
opposition  between   mind  and  body  involved  in  their 
metaphysics.      In  the  meantime,  however,  a  more  ma- 
terialistic school  of  thought  was  growing  up,  led  by 
Gassendi  and  Hobbes,  and  the  members  of  this  school 
allied  themselves  rather  with  the  Epicurean   school  of 

1  These  are  dealt  with  pretty  fully  in  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics. 


154 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  I. 


ancient  times.     Gassendi  was  definitely  a  disciple  of 
Epicurus.      Hobbes  worked  out  a  more  independent 
line,  regarding  the  attainment  of  power  as  the  great  aim 
of  human  life.     Hobbes  was  opposed  by  the  Cambridge 
Platonists   and   by  Cumberland,  who  endeavoured  to 
bring  out  the   more  social,  and  at  the   same  time  the 
more  rational,  side  of  human  nature.     Out  ot  their  posi- 
tion was  developed  what  came  to  be  known  as  the 
Moral  Sense  School,  represented  by   Shaftesbury  and 
Hutcheson.       According  to  these  writers  we  have  an 
intuitive  perception  of  the  distinction  between  right 
and  wrong,  similar  to  the  aesthetic  perception  of  the 
distinction  between  the  beautiful  and  the  ugly  ;  but  at 
the  same  time  this  perception  is  capable  of  explanation. 
It  depends  on  the  social  nature  of  man.     What  is  bene- 
ficial to  society  strikes   one  naturally  as  good  ;  what 
is  harmful  is  instinctively  regarded  as  bad.     This  point 
of  v'ew  forms  a  sort  of  watershed,  from  which  several 
streams   of  tendency  in    ethical  speculation    emerge. 
Some  writers  tended  to  emphasise  exclusively  the  fact 
that  there  is  an  intuitive  perception  of  right  and  wrong. 
Out  of  this  came  the  Intuitionist  School  of  Reid  and  his 
followers.     Others   were  specially  struck  by  the  fact 
that  the  distinction  between  good  and  bad  rests  on  a 
reasonable  consideration  of  the  results  of  action.    Hence 
arose  the  rational  school,  represented  by  Locke,  Clarke, 
Wollaston,  &c.     This  line  of  thought  may  be  said  to 
have  culminated  in    Kant;  and,    in  the   works  of  his 
immediate  successors,  it  gave  rise  to  a  point  of  view 
approximating  to  those  of  Plato  and  Aristotle.     This 
view  afterwards   passed   into  English  thought  in  the 
school  of  modern  Idealism  represented  by  Green  and 
others.     Finally,  some  of  those  who  were  impressed 


« 


f 


§  7.]      DEVELOPMENT  OF  ETHICAL  THOUGHT.        ISS 

by  the  teaching  of  the  Moral  Sense  School  were  led  to 
attach  special  importance  to  the  fact  that  the  good  is 
that  which  is  beneficial  to  society,  or  that  which  pro- 
motes human  happiness.  From  this  consideration  the 
school  of  modern  Utilitarianism  was  developed.  These 
three  schools— the  Intuitionist,  the  Rational,  and  the 
Utilitarian,  were  the  main  lines  of  modern  ethical 
thought,  until  the  school  of  the  modern  Evolutionists 
arose. 


156 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  II. 


2.] 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY. 


157 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    TYPES    OF    ETHICAL    THEORY. 


§  1.  General  Survey.— We  are  now  able  to  take  ac- 
count of  the  leading  types  of  ethical  thought  that  have 
occurred   throughout  the  history  of  speculation.      In 
details  there  is  wide  diversity,  but  in  their  broad  out- 
lines the  types  are  few  and  simple.     Two  types,   in 
particular,  come    up  again    and    again   in   the    course 
of  ethical  thought  as  opposing    points  of    view— the 
types  represented  by  Heraclitus  and  Democritus,  An- 
tisthenes  and  Aristippus,Zeno  and  Epicurus,  Descartes  « 
and  Gassendi,Cudworth  andHobbes,  Reid  and  Hume, 
Kant  and  Bentham.      This  antithesis  may  be  roughly 
expressed  as  that  between  those  who  lay  the  emphasis 
on  reason  and  those  who  lay  the  emphasis  on  passion  ; 
but,  as  we  go  on,  we  shall  have  to  endeavour  to  define 
it   more  precisely.      Besides    these    opposing   schools, 
however,   we   find    throughout    the   course   of  ethical 
speculation  another  point  of  view  which  may  be  de- 
scribed as  that  which  lays  the  emphasis  on  the  concrete 
personality  of  man,  rather  than  on  any  such  abstract 
quality  as  reason  or  passion.     This  point  of  view  does 
not  usually  appfear  in  opposition  to  the  other  two,  but 
rather  as    a  view    in  which   they  are    reconciled    and 
transcended.      It  appears  chiefly  in  the   great   specula- 

1  Geulincx  and  Malebranche  represented  the  more  ethical  aspect 
of  the  Cartesian  School  somewhat  more  definitely  than  Descartes 
himself. 


tive  thinkers  who  rise  above  the  oppositions  of  the 
schools— such  as  Plato  and  Aristotle,  Hegel,  and  one 
or  two  others. '  In  recent  times,  however,  it  has  come 
out  more  distinctly  as  one  school  (or  perhaps  we  should 
say  two  schools)  side  by  side  with  the  others— the 
school  which  may  be  broadly  characterized  as  that  of 
development.  Besides  these  main  positions  there  are 
a  number  of  others  that  are  more  transitory  and  less 
recurrent— such  as  the  aesthetic  school,  represented 
chiefly  by  the  Moral  Sense  writers  and  Herbart  ;  the 
school  of  sympathy,  represented  by  Adam  Smith  ;  and 

one  or  two  others. 

We  must  now  try  to  make  the  main  lines  of  contrast 

a  little  clearer. 

§  2.   Reason  and  Passion.— It  has   already   been  m- 
dicated  that  the  main  line  of  opposition  may  be  said 
to  consist  in  the  antithesis  between  reason  and  passion. 
We  have  seen  that  the  human  consciousness  may  be 
described  as   a  Universe   or  system,  consisting,  when 
we  regard  it  from  the  active  point  of  view,  of  various 
desires  placed  within  a  more  or  less  fully  co-ordinated 
group.     Now  it  is  possible  to  direct  special  attention 
either  to  the  separate  desires  existing  within  this  whole 
or  to  the  form  of  unity  by  which  it  coheres  as  a  system. 
We  may  regard   human  life   as  essentially  a  struggle 
between  desires  seeking  gratification,  or  as  the  effort 
to  bring  those  desires  into  subjection  to  the  idea  of  a 
system.     The  antithesis  between  the  two  schools  arises, 

1  Spinoza  should  on  the  whole  be  classed  with  them.  Though  a 
Cartesian,  he  fully  recognises  the  element  of  truth  in  the  point  o 
view  of  such  a  writer  as  Hobbes,  and  his  final  view  of  the  highest 
good  as  being  found  in  the  "Intellectual  Love  of  God,  is  to  a 
farge  extent  a  reproduction  of  the  teaching  of  Plato  and  Aristotle 
wtth  regard  to  the  Speculative  Life. 


( 


138 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  II. 


in  the  main,  from  the  tendency  to  lay  emphas.s  on  one 
or  other  of  these  sides.     The  one   tendency  .s  perhaps 
best  represented  by  such  a  doctnne  ««^ ''^^*  "^  "  ^^'^ 
that  • '  reason  is  and  must  always  be  the  slave  of  the 
passions,"  ,■.  .  that  reason  can  do  nothing  but  gu.d 
the  particular  impulses  to  the.r  gratification.     ^Vhen 
th  s  view  is  taken,  the  chief  good  of  life  -  almost  m- 
evitably  conceived  as  consisting  simply  m  the  grat.fica^ 
tion  of  the  particular  impulses  as  they  ar.se.     Th.s  rs 
the  view  of  the  Cyrenaics,  and,  n.  a  modified  form    o 
the  Hedonists  >n  general.     The  "PP"-*'' ^^''^^  'f.    Jf^ 
which   recognises  some   law  to  which  the  particular 
Tmpulses  must  be  subjected,  in  order   to  bring  them 
into  systematic  form.     In  the  history  of  ethical  thought 
this  law  has  generally  been   conceived  as  the  law  of 
reason,  just  as  the  attainment  of  the  end  of  the  p.n,- 
cular  impulses  has  generally  been  thought  of  as   plea- 
sure.    But  Hobbes  thought  of  the  end  of  the  desires 
rather  as  Power  than  as  Pleasure  ;  and  so  also  there  have 
been  thinkers  who  have  thought  of  the  law    o  which 
the  impulses  are  to  be  subjected  in  some  other  form 
than  as  the  law  of  reason.     Hence  we  are  led  to  state 
the  opposition  in  a  slightly  different  form. 

R  3  The  Right  and  the  Good, -It  has  been  pointed 
out  already  that  there  are  two  main  forms  >"  which 
the  moral  ideal  presents  itself-as  the  Right  and  as  the 
Good  We  may  think  of  morality  as  conformity  to  a 
rule  or  standard,  or  as  the  pursuit  of  an  end.  No  w  the 
distinction  between  the  two  opposing  schools  of  tthics 
connects  itself,  to  a  considerable  extent,  with  this  dis- 
tinction. It  is  on  the  whole  true  that  the  line  of 
thinkers  from  Heraclitus,  through  the  Stoics,  to  Kant, 
think   of  the  supreme  standard  in  morality  as  some 


^,]  TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY.  159 

f  ^f  law  rule  or  imperative,  from  which  we  learn 
tvtat  t  r;,; mo  do  ;  while  the  line  of  thinkers  from 
S  mocritus%irough  the  Epicureans,  to  Bentha-^  k 
r-ither  of  a  Good  (generally  described  as  Happiness)  at 
which  men  aim,  ^Iid  by  reference  to  which  their  actions 
Tre  to  be  praised  or  blamed.  The  two  schools  may 
Tus  be  roughly  characterised  as  those  that  take  Duty 

l„d  Happiifes.  res^^^Z::^^^^^^^-^ 
th!  LTpos'To^lsr t^::  of  Duty  and  Happi 
ness  the  ferm  Perfection  may  appropriately  be  used  to 
raraiterise  the  middle  theory,  which,  to  a  large  extent, 

combines  the  other  two. 

U  may  be  noted  that  these  are  not  '-er^ly  three 
aii  r^lu'theories  of  the  moral  standard,  but  that  differ- 
ent types  of  life  correspond  to  them.  ^^  ^/J"  ^^ 
marked  of  Kant  that  his  life  reminds  us  of  the  categor 
ical  imperative  of  duty,"  which  was  for  him  the  kernel 
of  morals..     In  like  manner  the  life  of  Bentham  may 

in  this  connection,  the  'oHowing  humorous  a  cou"  of  Kan^fr^^^^ 
Heine.  "  The  life  of  Immanuel  Kant  '^Jl^^^^  "^^^^'/'.^'^ds.  He 
indeed  neither  life  nor  history  '"'|';P!°Pf;;'"i3te^^^^^^^  quiet,  re- 
lived an  abstract,  "'^^;;j^:^' ^t^'^'Z:::Z^Ln  boundary 
mote  street  of  ^on'S^berg,  an  oW  city  a^  ^^^^^^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^ 

of  Germany.    I  do  not  believe  tnai  in    s  .       ^        j  ^^^g 

that  city  accomplished  Us  days  7^'V'"^Jf^'PtR.^ng  from  bed, 

past  four  when  they  saw  Professor  Kant  m  his  grey 
Lnein  his  hand  step  out  of  his  '^°";.%^,'^°  '  ^^^  ^e  pW^sopher's 
Httle  lime-tree  avenue  which  ,s  «'"f  a",^r  hmi  the  ^^P^^ 

Walk     Eight  t  mes  he  walked  up  ana  aown      <x 

n  of  fhe  year,  ^^^J^^'^^t  :^t:l:^.^'':^^1^^  ^^^^ 
Clouds  threatened  rain,  his  servant,  old  Lampe,  wa 


1 


,  aiW««ai«firt»(*»*-'i 


i6o 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  TI.,  CH.II. 


■  1  ^f  thp  Hedonistic  position— a  life 
be  taken  as  typical  of  the  "^^^^^f  the  mechanical 
spent  in  devotion  to  the  'mprove-en  o        ^^^^^  _     ^^^ 

conditions  of  existence,  ^^e  mean^ot      PP^^^^ 

Wind  of  Ufe  that  corresponds  to  Perfect!  ^^  ^^ 

represented  by  such  men  as  Plato  ana 

the  modern  Greek,  Goethe.  Hebrews, 

^^  --'  ?Stt   Sf^e7a::r.^   representing 
Romans,  and  Greek.,  rn  ^^^^^   ^^^^   ,^^^   ^f 

these   three   ideals.      With   tlie  ^^^^^    ^^^^ 

righteousness  is  supreme^  J^;^^  ^nse.     The  law 
devoted  to  law,  but  m  a  am  ^^^^.^^^ 

which  interested  them  most  wa   nether    ha^^J^      ^^^^ 

the  mechanical  conditions  ^f  ''^^ J'  ^         -fhe  Greeks 

which  provide  ^^^  ^^f /t/o'  perScTdevelopment  of 
obviously  represent  the  laeai  oi  f 

^Tr  Mmn  THEOKiKS.-In  contrasting  these  different 
Jow;„.M.wUhaUr«eu.breUa^^^^^^^^ 

Providence."    "  Str-^ng^ '=°";^^^;„^f '  ol  a  „  ^^e  citizens  of 

and  his  world^iestroying  tho"»^"^  "^^^  „,^„ing  of  that  thought, 
KOnigsberg  had  had  any  'f  ^'"S^' J,\,  before  an  executioner, 
they  would  have  shuddered  before  h.m  as  ^^  ^^.^^^^ 

But  the  good  people  saw  nothmgm  humbug  P  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^.^ 
phv  and  when  he  passed  at  the  appoim 

friendly  greetings  and  set  their  ^^'J'';';^' .  ..  Bentham,"  says  Sir 

1  Bentham's  great  interest  ^'^^-'^S^^^^  ,.^,,  ,„  j,„,h 

Henry  Maine  (.Early  H,story  o  '«"  •  1^%^  „,  ,he  word.  He 
neither  a  jurist  nor  - '^^^'If '"^^fi^J'.'Xn  carefully  examined,  he 
theorises  not  on  law  but  on  l^g'^'f  °";  7^„  no  doubt  his  language 
„ay  be  seen  to  be  a  l^^g't'"/;,!"*;  "^x^^  „g  moral  phenomena ;  in 
,eeL  sometimes  to  '^J/ 'f^^^^V^^^^^^^^^^^^  Lording  to  a  working 
reality  he  wishes  to  »'f  °";^^^^f f  legislation.    This  transfer  of 

§4- 


I 


TYPES  OF   ETHICAL  THEORY. 


l6l 


/ 


lei  of  the  ^^^^-x^':;^::^^ " 

remembered  always  that  many  of  the  t 

the  most  representative  writers    cannot  ^^_ 

quite   definitely  under  any  <>"«  ^ead, 

present  combinations  of  the  ^  Jj^  ^'^^       ^^^en 

Ln  the  Sto;cs^-7^:;-;i  1°  StS^nT  fir  though 
the  theory  of  Duty  ana  ma  obedience  to 

their  ideal  may  be  described  f  J^J^  7J,,^,„t  of  the 
law,  it  is  at  the  same  time  that  of  the  -t^a^"-        ^^  ^^ 

life  of  the  P-f-''7;^J!„r"    r  in  th"  Moral  Sense 
the  Cartesians  and  to  Kant.     Ag*"''  '  ^     ^i^rge 

School,  the  ideas  of  Duty  and  HaPP'--  ar^  o  a      g 

extent  ^^^^f^^^,  '"''iCr.lL  ^.o^^.o.- 

we  are  not  at  present  studying  the  history  ^ 
possible,  apart. 


^ 


Eth. 


IL 


1 62 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  I. 


CHAPTER   III. 


THE  STANDARD  AS  LAW. 
PART  I.:  THE  GENERAL  IDEA  OF  MORAL  LAW. 

§  1.  Introductory   Remarks. — In    dealing   with   the 
different  types  of  ethical  theory,  it  seems   most  con- 
venient to  start  with  those  that  take  as  their  funda- 
mental   conception    the    idea    of  Duty,    Right,    Law, 
Obligation.     To  the   race,   as  to   the  child,    morality 
presents  itself  first  in  the  form  of  commandments,  and 
even  in  the  form  of  threats.     It  is  only  at  a  later  stage 
of  development  that  we  learn  to  regard  the  moral  life 
as  a  good,  and  finally  as  the  realisation   of  our  own 
nature.     Hence  it  seems  most  natural  to  begin   with 
those  theories   which  are  based  rather  on   the  idea  of 
rightness  than   on  that  of  the  Good.     From   this  point 
of  view,  morality   presents  itself  as  obedience  to  the 
Law   of' Duty.     The  significance  of  this  conception, 
and  the  different  forms  which  it  may  take,  are  what  we 
have  now  to  consider. 

§  2.  The  Meaning  of  Law  in  Ethics. — A  good  deal 
of  confusion  has  been  caused  in  the  study  of  Ethics, 
as  well  as  in  that  of  some  other  subjects,  by  a  certain 
ambiguity  in  the  word  Law. '  It  is  important,  there- 
fore, that  we  should  try  to  understand  exactly  the 
sense  in  w^hich  it  is  here  to  be  used. 

It  has  been  customary  to  distinguish  two  distinct 

1  Cf.  Whately's  Logic,  p.  209 ;  and  Welton's  Manual  of  Logic,  vol.  i., 
p.  8. 


I  2.]  GENERAL  IDEA  OF   MORAL  LAW.  163 

senses  in  which  it  may  be  used.     We  speak  of  the  L.ws 
of  a  country  and  also  of  the  laws  of  nature  ;  but  it  is 
:lideTthaI  the  kinds  of  law  referred  to  in  these  two 
rhrasrare  very  different      The  laws  of  a  coun  ry 
are  mTdeby  a  pLple  or  by  its  rulers  ;  and,  even  in  the 
te  ;f  thJ  M^edes  and   Persians,   there  is  a  ways  a 
•KiUfv  that  thev  may  be  changed.     Ihere  is  aiso 
aWv   fpossMUv  thaUhe  inhabitants  of  the  country 
mlv  d  sobey  them';  and,  as  a  general  rule,  they  have 
ripp  Ston  at  all  to  the  inhabitants  of  other  coun- 
•erThe  laws  of  nature,  on  tje  other  hand  arc^^^^ 
stant    inviolable,  and  all-pervadnig.     There  are  three 
rlspects    therefore,  in  which  different  kinds    of  law 
rr  ?;    distinguished.     Some    laws    are    constant. 
Tthers  are  variaWe.     Some  are  inviolable  :  o  hers  are 
y  .V  fn  be  disobeyed.     Some  are  universal :  others 
ha  I  only  a  limited  Application.     The  last  of  these  three 
noints   however,  is  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the 
E    for  what  s  universal  is  generally  also  constant 
1  necessary   and  vice  versd.     Consequently,  it  may 
StuSS;  tL  present  to  distinguish  differe^^^^^^^^^^^ 
nf  Hws  as  (0  changeable  or  unchangeable,  (2)  vio lab  e 
o   inviolab    -though  we  shall  have  to  return  shortly  to 
tL"h  rd  principle  of  distinction.     Adopting  these  two 
nrLciples    we    might   evidently    have    four  differen 
cl"ssesonaws-(i)  Those  that  can  be  both  changed  and 
V  o  at^d    (2)  those  that  can  be  changed  but  cannot  be 
violated     3    those  that  can  be  violated  but  cannot  be 
Tanged.   (4)  those  that  can  neither  be  changed  nor 
violated. 

throughout  the  whole  of  nature.    See  followmg  note. 


164 


ETHICS.   [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  I. 


Of  the  first  and  last  of  these,  illustrations  have 
already  been  given.  Of  the  second  also  it  is  not  dif- 
ficult to  discover  examples.  The  laws  of  the  solar 
system,  of  day  and  night,  seedtime  and  harvest,  and 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  seasons,  are  inviolable  so 
long  as  certain  conditions  last ;  but  if  these  conditions 
were  changed— say,  by  the  cooling  of  the  sun,  by  the 
retardation  of  the  earth's  velocity,  or  its  collision  with 
some  comet  or  erratic  meteor — the  laws  also  would 
change  with  thern.^  Again,  most  of  the  laws  of  po- 
litical economy  are  of  this  character.  They  hold  good 
of  certain  types  of  society,  and  among  men  who  are 
swayed  by  certain  motives  ;  and  within  these  limits 
they  are  inviolable.  But  change  the  conditions  of 
society,  or  the  characters  of  the  men  who  compose  it, 
and  in  many  cases  the  laws  will  break  down.  Such 
laws  are  sometimes  said  to  be  hypothetical.  They  are 
valid  only  on  the  supposition  that  certain  conditions 
are  present  and  remain  unchanged.  Some  philoso- 
phers ^  have  thought  that  even  the  laws  of  mathematics 
may  be  of  this  character — that  there  might  be  a  world 
in  which  two  and  two  would  be  equal  to  five ;  and 
that  if  a  triangle  were  formed  with  the  diameter  of  the 
earth  for  its  base  and  one  of  the  fixed  stars  for  its  apex, 
its  three  angles  might  not  be  equal  to  two  right  angles.^ 
But    this   appears    to   be   a   mistake.     The    laws    of 

1  It  might  be  urged  that  all  laws  of  nature  are  of  this  character, 
J.  e.  that  they  are  all  hypothetical,  depending  on  the  continuance  of 
the  present  constitution  of  the  universe.  This  is  true,  unless  there 
are  some  laws  of  such  a  kind  that  no  system  of  nature  could  exist 
without  them.  The  consideration  of  this  question,  however,  belongs 
to  Metaphysics. 

2  E.  g.  J.  S.  Mill. 

*  This  was  the  opinion  of  Gauss,  for  instance. 


§  2.]  GENERAL   IDEA   OF   MORAL  LAW.  165 

mathematics    belong   rather   to   the   last   of  our  four 

r*l  jisses 

The  laws  of  Ethics,  however,  must  on  the  whole  be 
regarded  as  belonging  to  the  third  class.     T^ey  cannot 
be  changed,  but  they  may  be  violated.     I    .s  true,  as 
has  been  already  stated,   that  the  particular  rules  o 
morals  may  vary  with  different  conditions  of  life  ;  but 
the  broad  principles  remain  always  the  same,  and  are 
applicable  not  only  to  all  kinds   of  men,   but  to  all 
rational  beings.     If  a  spirit  were  to  come  among  us 
from  another  world,  we  might  have  no  knowledge  o 
his  nature  and  constitution.     We  might  not  know  what 
would  taste  bitter  or  sweet  to  him,    what  he  would 
iudge  to  be  hard  or  soft,  or  how  he  would  be  affected  by 
heat  or  sound  or  colour.     But  we  should  know  at  least 
that  for  him,  as  for  us,  the  whole  is  greater  than  any 
one  of  its  parts,  and  every  event  has  a  cause  ;  and  that 
he.  like  us,  must  not  tell  lies,  and  must  not  wanton  y 
destroy  life."     These   laws   are  unchangeable.      Ihey 
cin,  however,  be  broken.     We  may,  indeed,  speak  o 

ethical  principles  which  it  is  impossible  to  violate^     A. 
ethical  writer,  for  instance,  may  insist  on  the  truth  that 

every  sin  brings  with  it  some  form  of  P"n>«hment 
This  is  a  truth  from  which  there  is  no  escape  ;  but  ,t  ,s 
rather  a  metaphysical  than  an  ethica  truth  It  is  a 
fact  about  the  constitution  of  the  world,  not  a  moral 
law  A  moral  law  states  something  th^tougM  to 
happen,  not  something  that  necessan/y  does  happen^ 
Moral  laws  are  not  the  only  laws  that  are  of  this 

1  some  theological  writers  have  denied  this.holding  that  goodness 
chap,  vii, 


1 66 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CII.  III.,  PT.  I. 


character.     On  the  contrary,  the  hivvs  of  every  strictly 
normative  and  of  every  practical  science  are  essentially 
similar.     No  one  can  make  the  fundamental  principles 
of  architecture,   navigation,   or  rhetoric,    in   any  way 
different  from  what  they  are  ;  though  in  practice  any 
one  who  is  willing  to  take  the  consequences  may  defy 
them.     No   doubt  the   rules  of  these  sciences  might 
require  modification  if  they  were  to  be  applied  to  the 
inhabitants  of  another  planet  than  ours  ;  and  even  on 
our  own  planet  they  are  not  absolutely  rigid.     A  style 
of  building  which  is  suitable  for  Iceland  would  scarcely 
be  adapted  for  the  Tropics.     The  navigation  of  the 
Mississippi  is  different  from  that  of  the  Atlantic.     And 
the  oratory  which  would  awake  the  enthusiasm  of  an 
Oriental  people  might  move  an  Anglo-Saxon  audience 
only   to    derision.     Still,    it   is    possible    in    all    these 
sciences  to  lay  down  broad  general  laws  which  shall 
be  applicable  universally,  or  at  least  applicable  to  all 
conditions  under  which  it  is  conceivable  that  we  should 
wish  to  apply  them — laws,  indeed,  from  which  even  the 
particular  modifications  required  in  special  cases  might 
be  deduced.      For  example,  we  might  take  it  as  a  prin- 
ciple of  rhetoric  that  if  an  audience  is  to  be  moved  to 
the  performance  of  some  action  or  the  acceptance  of 
some  truth  to  which  they  may  be  expected  to  be  disin- 
clined, they  ought  to  be  led  up  to  the  point  by  an  easy 
transition,    from  step  to  step,    beginning   with   some 
things  that  are  obvious  and   familiar,   and  in  which 
their  affections  are  naturally  engaged.     From  this    it 
might  be  at  once  inferred  that  the  character  of  such  an 
appeal  ought  to  vary  with  different  audiences,  accord- 
ing to  the  nature  of  the  objects  to  which  their  experience 
has  accustomed  them,  to  the  intensity  of  the  feelings 


§3-] 


GENERAL  IDEA   OF   MORAL   LAW. 


167 


t„A  *v,pm"splves  with  these  objects, 

and  to  the  ^''.^'^f^     ^    J     ^he  law  is  constant :  it  is 
from  one  point  to  ^^f^'.  ^^^  ^.i^nce  of  logic 

only  the  -^^^^^:^TinsUnce  of  such  laws. 

tTrZ:  S   correct  thinking   cannot   be    changed 
The   rules   ui    v,vy  „,hirh  men  are  most 

though  the  P-«^^^--r,;3eet:fsrdy.  different 
liable  may  vary  -  ^^  ^  Jrent  o  j     ^_^^^      ^^  ^^.^  ^^^^ 

S::fS;  SLtThe tws  cannot  be  changed,  but 
may  be  violated.'  distinctions 

^  '■  ^^^'^ThVierediSse  tionmaybeconveniently 
''''"Td  UP  iy  s'ayS  "hit  some  laws  express  what  is 
:ZTlTS'Z  (or  sua,  be),  and  some  what  ou,H. 

.  .  „.,  .e  ur.ea.  no  ^'^^-Z:^::  ^"^ 

of  Formal  Logi'=)^<^^P^"^  °"Xded  middle  ;  and  it  may  be  main- 
identity,  contradiction  and  exchaded  mi         •  ^^  not  strictly 

tained  that  there  are  objects  to  uh.ch  these  P        P^        ^^^^  ^^^^^^ 

applicable.    But  this  pomt  is  too  subtle  to 

hinted  at  in  this  place.  ^         ^j  be  violated, 

.This  distinction  between  lau.uhK,hca.  interpreted  with 

like  other  distinctions  of  the  s^«>^  ^°^''  ^  ^.^.^  it  is  possible  to 
some  care,  and  not  pressed  t°°  '".'.'  ,o„ditions  under  which 
violate  a  natural  law, ,.  e.  we  .<=-  7^^^j^7,\°„ "^late  a  moral  law. 
it  holds.  In  a  sense  ^Iso.t  J  not  ^^^^f^l^,^,^,,,,,,  with  our- 
To  act  wrongly  is,  as  we  shal  ^^.«; '"  ''^  .^^j  jt^elf  cannot  stand." 
selves-,  and-ahouse  wh,ch.sduded  ag^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^  ^ 
Similarly,  even  the  law  of  ^  "■'^J\he  open  expression  of  this 
violated.    Punishment  may  be  f '"^ '°  ^^"J^Vperpetrator,  and  anni- 


1 68 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  I. 


to  be. '  What  we  call  laws  of  nature  are  simply  general 
statements  about  what  is.  The  law  of  gravitation 
simply  states  that  bodies  tend  to  move  in  certain  ways 
relatively  to  one  another.  Even  the  laws  recognised 
in  the  more  abstract  sciences  are  of  this  character.  The 
law  of  demand  and  supply  simply  states  that,  as  a 
general  rule,  prices  tend  to  adjust  themselves  in  par- 
ticular ways.*  Laws  of  nations,  on  the  other  hand, 
state  what  must  be,  i.  e.  what  is  bound  to  be  unless 
certain  penalties  are  incurred.  Atoms  and  prices  do 
not  and  cannot  violate  their  laws,  so  long  as  the 
appropriate  conditions  hold.  Their  laws  are  nothing 
but  statements  of  the  way  in  which  certain  occurrences 
uniformly  take  place  under  certain  conditions. 
Human  beings,  on  the  other  hand,  may  and  do  violate 

1  It  is  one  of  the  very  few  advantages,  from  a  philosophical  point 
of  view,  which  the  English  language  possesses  over  the  German, 
that  we  have  the  two  words  shall  and  ought,  where  they  have  only 
sollen,  which  corresponds  rather  more  closely  to  shall  than  to  ought. 
Hegel's  objection  to  the  use  of  the  word  sollen  {Logic  of  Hegel, 
Wallace's  Translation,  p.  ii)  seem  to  be  due  chiefly  to  the  fact  that 
it  suggests  (I)  something  future,  as  opposed  to  what  is  actually 
realised,  (2)  something  commanded  by  an  external  authority.  The 
English  word  ought  seems  to  be  free  from  both  these  defects. 

2  It  has  already  been  indicated  (note  to  Introduction,  chap,  i.), 
that  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  principles  of  the  more  abstract 
sciences  may  be  said  to  be  normative— that  theoretical  astronomy 
may  be  said  to  state  the  laws  according  to  which  the  planets  ought 
to  move,  that  geometry  may  be  said  to  state  the  laws  that  ought  to 
hold  in  a  perfect  triangle  or  circle,  and  so  forth.  But  "  ought "  in 
this  sense  means  that  these  relationships  do  hold,  in  so  far  as  the 
appropriate  conditions  are  realised  ;  and  the  significance  of  the 
sciences  lies  in  the  fact  that,  in  the  concrete  world  of  experience, 
they  either  do  approximately  hold,  or  are  determining  conditions 
in  the  actual  constitution  of  things.  Truly  normative  principles 
are  not  of  this  nature.  If  all  men  were  to  go  mad,  the  principles 
of  correct  thinking  would  still  hold  as  before. 


'4 


I  4.]  GENERAL  IDEA   OF   MORAL  LAW.  1 69 

the  laws  of  their  country.    But  the  law  states  that  they 
„,„sl  not  do  so,  and  attaches  penalties  (or  sanctions 
to  the  doing  of  it.     A  moral  law,  finally,  is  a  law  tha 
sUtes  that  something  ought  to  be.     It  is  the  statement 
of  an  Ideal.     Thus,  if  a  Government  decides  to  enter 
upon  a  war  which  is  known  by  the  citizens  to  be  un- 
Uist  some  of  the  soldiers  may  feel  that  it  .s  wrong  to 
ser;e,  ,-.  e.  that  it  is  contrary  to  their  ideal  of  what  as 
rieht  in  conduct.      Here  they  come  in  conflict  with 
what  they  recognise  as  a  moral  law.     Nevertheless, 
they  must  not  desert ;  i.  e.  they  will  be  shot  if  they  do. 
Here  there  is  a  law  of  the  State.      Suppose  they  do 
desert  and  are  shot,  they  die  by  a  law  of  nature. 

S  4    The  Categorical  Imperative. -We  are  now  in  a 
position  to  understand  the  important  conception  which 
was  introduced  by  Kant  with  reference  to  the  mora 
law     He  said  that  it  was  of  the  nature  of  a  categorical 
imperative.     The  meaning  of  this  may  readily  be  made 
apparent.     All  laws  which  are  not  simply  expressions 
of  natural  uniformities  may  be  said  to  be  of  the  nature 
of  commands.     The  laws  of  nations  are  commands 
issued  by  the  government,  with  penalties  attached  to 
the  violation  of  them.     Moral  laws  may  also  (subject 
to  a  certain  qualification)  be  said  to  be  commands, 
though  we  are  not  yet  in  a  position  to  consider  how 
they  are  issued.     Now  commands  may  be  absolute  in 
their  character,  or  subject  to  qualification.     The  laws 
of  a  nation  are   laws   that  we  must  obey,  unless  we 
are  prepared  to  suffer  the  consequences  0/ disobedtence. 
Again,  the  fundamental  principles  of  rhetoric  may  be 
said  to  be  of  the  nature  of  commands  or  rules  ;  but  the 
commands  which  are  thus  laid  down  are  apphcable 
only  to  rhetoricians.     The  laws  of  architecture,  in  like 


170 


ETHICS.   [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  I. 


manner,  apply  only  to  those  who  wish  to  construct 
stable,  commodious,  and  beautiful  buildings.  Some 
of  the  laws  of  political  economy,  again,  are  neither 
constant  nor  universal.  They  are  not  constant ;  for 
they  may  vary  with  different  conditions  of  society. 
They  are  not  universal ;  for  they  are  applicable  only 
to  those  who  wish  to  produce  wealth.  Even  the  laws 
of  formal  logic  arc  not  universal.  They  apply  only 
to  those  who  wish  to  be  self-consistent. '  Now  a  man 
may  reject  this  aim.  He  may  say,  with  Emerson,* 
"Suppose  you  should  contradict  yourself;  what  then ? " 
"A  foolish  consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds, 
adored  by  little  statesmen  and  philosophers  and  divines. 
With  consistency  a  great  soul  has  simply  nothing  to 
do."  3  Such  imperatives  as  these,  therefore,  are  merely 
hypothetical.  ^    They  apply  only  to  those  who  adopt  the 

i  I  assume  of  course  here  that  logic  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  norma- 
tive science,  laying  down  the  rules  of  consistent  thought.  Some 
logicians  have  treated  the  subject  in  a  different  way,  regarding  it 
either  as  an  ordinary  positive  science,  or  as  an  art,  or  as  a  combina- 
tion of  the  two. 

2  Essay  on  "  Self-Reliance." 

8  No  doubt  Emerson  is  referring  here  to  consistency  in  action, 
rather  than  to  consistency  in  thought.  But  the  same  might  be  said 
of  the  latter  under  certain  conditions.  "In  order  to  think  at  all,"  as 
Mr.  Bradley  says  {Appearance  ami  Reality),  "  you  must  subject  your- 
self to  a  standard."  Thinking  is  a  game,  and  "  if  you  sit  down  to  the 
game,  there  is  only  one  way  of  playing."  So  the  laws  of  moral- 
ity may  be  said  to  constitute  the  rules  of  the  game.  But  the  latter 
is  a  game  that  we  must  be  always  playing.  We  may  take  a  holiday 
from  thinking,  and  feel  or  dream  instead,  and  there  is  nothinginthe 
laws  of  thinking  to  prevent  this.  Morality,  on  the  other  hand,  claims 
a  universal  jurisdiction.  It  is  not  a  rule  of  thought  that  you  must 
always  be  thinking  ;  but  it  is  a  rule  of  action  that  you  must  always 
be  doing  what  is  right  in  the  given  conditions. 

4  Such  laws  as  those  of  political  economy  are  thus  hypothetical  in 
a  double  sense— hypothetical  with  regard  to  the  conditions  under 


I  4.]  GENERAL   IDEA   OF    MORAL   LAW.  17I 

end   with  which   the  particular  normative  science  is 

'The  lavts  of  Ethics  differ  from  all  other  laws  in  being 
not  hypothetical,  but  categorical.     It  is  true  that  Emer- 
son's paradox  about  consistency  has  been  capped  by 
hat  of' the  preacher  who  bade  us,  "  Be  -t  r.ghte- 
overmuch'-      But   if  this    maxim    is    to    have    any 
rSble   meaning,  we   must   understand   the     erm 
.'  righteous  "  in  a  somewhat  narrow  sense.     It  cannot 
be  faken  to  mean  that  we  should  not  to  too  great  an 
extent,  do  what  we  ought  to  do.     This  would  be  a 
contradiction  in  terms.     If  we  are  not  to  ^e    00  f^a- 
tical  in  the  observance  of  particular  moral  rules,  it  mus 
be  in  deference  to  other  moral  rules  or  principles  tha 
are  of  a  still  higher  authority.     The  supreme  moral 
TrLiple,  whatever  it  may  be,  lays  its  con>n,and  upon 
ns  absolutely,  and  admits  of  no  question.     What  we 
;ino  do  we  ought  to  ...     There  c-  ^e  -  ^'f  ^r 
law  by  which  the  moral  imperative  might  be  set  aside 
The're  are,   indeed,   some  other  laws  -h.ch  m^" 
seem  to  be  scarcely  less  absolute,  ^^ecause  th^y  relate 
to  ends  that  every  one  naturally  seeks.     Thus   every 
one  would  like  to  be  happy  ;  and  consequently  if  there 
were   any  practical  science   of  happiness    every  one 
IZxA  be  bound  to  follow  its  laws.     Accordingly,  Kant 

ailed  such  laws  asserlorial,  ^^--^^fTSiT^lll 
pend  on  the  hypothesis  that  we  seek  for  hapP-ess  ye^ 
it  may  be  at  once  asserted  of  every  one  that  he  does  seek 
..hich  they  arc  applicable,  and  hypothelica,  with  regard  to  the  end 
with  reference  to  which  Ihey  are  ^Pf^^^\  ^  jf      „  would 

adds  in  an  emphatic  ..side,  '  Be  not  too  good. 
■iMctaphysic  of  Morals,  section  U. 


1/2 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  I. 


this   end.     Again,    intellectual   perfection    is    an    end 
which  a  rational  being  can  hardly  help  desiring.     There 
is  probably  no  one  who  would  not,  if  he  could,  have 
the  penetration  of  a  Newton,  or  the  grasp  of  a  Shake- 
speare or  a  Goethe.     Hence  if  there  were  any  science 
that  taught  how  such  perfection  is  to  be  attained,  its 
laws  would  have  at  least  an  almost  universal  applica- 
tion.    Still,    even  such    laws  as   these  are   not   quite 
parallel  to  the  laws  of  morals.     Their  universality,  if 
they  are  universal,  depends  on  the  fact  that  every  one 
chooses  the  end  to  which  they  have  reference  ;  whereas 
the  laws  of  morals  apply  to  all  men  irrespective  of  their 
choice.     If,  indeed,  happiness  could  be  shown  to  be 
necessarily  bound  up    with    virtue,  and   unhappiness 
with  vice,  then   the   obligation   to  follow  the  rules   of 
happiness  would  have  the  same  absoluteness  as  the 
obligation  to  obey  the  moral  law  ;  but  only  because 
these  two    things   would  then    be  identical.      In    like 
manner,  if  we  were  to  accept  quite  literally  the  view 
of  Carlyle,  that  all  intellectual  perfection  has  a  moral 
root,  so  that  a  man's  virtue  is  exactly  proportional  to 
his  intelligence,  in  this  case  also  the  laws  of  intel- 
lectual perfection   would  become    absolute,   but  only 
because  they  would  become  moral.     The  moral  law, 
then,  is  unique.     It  is  the  only  categorical  imperative. ' 
Up  to  this  point,  I    have,   so  far  as    possible,    been 
following  the  account  of  Kant.     There  are,  however, 
two  points  on  which  some  slight  criticism,  or  at  least 
caution,    seems  to  be  required,      (i)  It    is  somewhat 

1  On  this  subject  the  student  should  consult  Kant's  Metaphysic  of 
Morals,  section  II.  The  opening  paragraphs  of  Clifford's  Essay 
"On  the  Scientific  Basis  of  Morals'  may  also  be  found  suggestive, 
though  he  does  not  entirely  accept  the  view  indicated  above. 


§5-1   VARIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  OF  MORAL  LAW.     1/3 

represent  it  as  ^^'»S  °         j^  ^^t^er  be  described  as 
than  of  an  oughL     I    should  .^  .^  ,,tegorical, 

based  on  an  ideal.     (2)  1"  ^^^"'^  j  be  seen 

we  must  ---^f\f  *J^   ;?e  tSt  we  mlt  do  what 
to  be  categorical  - Jh^  P"-f  J  f '  ^,  remains  to  be 

r  dtrnSation  ^f  what  is  right^     If  ^here  -s      , 

1-      1^    u  will  be  catee:orical     but  it  may  lu 
Ibt  tt;      ll^    In  iL  latter  case,  it  is  somewhat 
heading  to  spealc  of  a  categorical  unj.rative^ 

With  these  general  ---^^J-J.^^X.fe.actly  the 
law   we  may  now  proceed  to  ask  wnai 
law  is  which  is  thus  categorically  imposed. 

PAKT  11.:  VARIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  OK  THE  MORAL 

§  5.  Th.  L.W  o.  THE  TKiB..-We  have  al-ady^seen 
thlt  the  eariiest  form  in  ^f^^\Xl^:'^YL 

^  An  iUustration  of  this  fonn  oC  law. '" --P;-«j;t^„^^:^t  wTen 
„.ay  be  found  in  the  well-known  ^^y-f, °^  *!^:|r„p,  Donald,  my 

!:,^n'^tiirh!d:v""ci;j-t;^^^^^^^ 

referred  to  above.  Book  I.,  chap,  v.,  §  7- 


174 


ETHICS.    [BK.  it.,  CH,  III.,  PT.  IT. 


than  an  ought;  and  the  free  man  soon  rebels  against 
such  government  from  without. 

§  6.  The  Law  of  God. — It  is  a  stage  higher  when 
the  moral  law  is  distinguished  from  the  law  of  the 
land,  and  regarded  as  a  principle  which  owes  its 
authority,  not  to  any  man  or  body  of  men,  but  to  God 
or  the  gods.  The  best  known  instance  of  such  a  set 
of  laws  is  to  be  found  in  the  Ten  Commandments  of 
the  Jews.  But  these  also  may  come  into  conflict,  and 
require  qualification.  Besides,  the  moral  conscious- 
ness soon  begins  to  ask  on  what  authority  the  divine 
law  rests.  If  it  rest  merely  on  the  command  of 
powerful  supernatural  beings,  it  is  still  only  a  must, 
not  an  ought.  If  God  is  not  Himself  righteous.  His 
law  cannot  be  morally  binding  merely  on  account  of 
His  superior  power.  But  to  ask  whether  God  is  right- 
eous is  to  ask  for  a  law  above  that  of  God  Himself, 
and  by  which  God  may  be  judged.  Hence  the  law  of 
God  cannot  be  accepted  as  final. 

§  7.  The  Law  of  Nature. — In  order  to  get  over  this 
difficulty,  the  view  has  sometimes  been  taken  that  the 
most  fundamental  law  of  all  is  that  which  lies  in  the 
nature  of  things.  In  Greek  Ethics,  in  particular,  the 
conception  of  nature  {(po<n^)  plays  a  very  prominent 
part.  The  Greeks  understood  by  nature  the  essential 
constitution  of  things  underlying  their  casual  appear- 
ances. It  was  in  this  sense,  for  instance,  that  the 
Stoics  used  their  famous  phrase  to  ''  live  according  to 
nature  "  {vivere  convenienter  naturce).  In  modern  times 
also,  especially  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  and 
the  greater  part  of  the  eighteenth  centuries,  much  was 
made  of  the  idea  of  natural  law.  Perhaps  in  Ethics 
one  of  the  most  striking  applications  of  this  conception 


17]   VARIOUS   CONCEPTIONS   OF   MORAL   LAW.     .75 
one  who  observes  them  i  .jgerences  and  rela- 

s.""'Trx:rc::"«.n.:td  proportions  o. 

r^bol'a,.,,..  and  moral,  in  wHC,""  ""'X; 
di    ;„in<l..l.ns  naturally  agr,..  "«  «"»-;  ™t:^ 

.vhere  naturally  and  necessanly  --"J^hUenesrof 
agree  in  their  judgment  concernmg  the  whjteness 

L  snow  or  the  ^f^^^^^  ,:^^Z.. 
sar.ly  anses  an  ag  ^^  ^^^^^^^^^   ^^  ^^^ 

...ormity  in  ^^-^--l^f^.t^^^^ ^^  the  V 
red?oct:ine^T::^eatness  o.  things. 'But  in  all 
statements  of  this  soH    taken  -JeJ^as  s  ^^^_^^^  .^_ 

T'd   'Sre'ar^e  tain  y  Uw:  in  nature  ;  but  these, 
If;:  have  n  ted  are  simply  statements  of  the  u 
riways  in  which  things  occur  ;  -d -h,  -^rJ 

exhibited  quite  as  '""^  "\^'?f,*,;' '^v  the  explosion 

A      ThP  destruction  of  a  building  by  me  cah 
good.     The  uestruci  accordance  with  the  fitness 

:;  .M^j-i  irdt:  r...  o,  „..»., ..  - 

.  ^.toraZ  »».  pp.  44-4>      .  ^^,^      .  ^ 
2  ihid.,  p.  w. 


176 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  II. 


movements  of  the  planetary  system.'  Fitness,  in 
any    sense    in    which    it    can    serve    as  the  basis  of 

moral  theories,  must  be  fitness  for  something /'.  e.  it 

must  involve  some  reference  to  an  end  or  ideal;  and 
no  alchemy  can  ever  extract  this  out  of  the  'mere 
observation    of  natural    laws.^     The   analysis    of  the 

1  As  illustrating  this  confusion,  reference  may  perhaps  be  made 
to  those  primitive  conceptions  of  the  relation  between  the  natural 
and  the  moral  order,  according  to  which  a  man  by  committing  a 
crime  might  proauce  an  earthquake.  Some  interesting  facts  of  this 
sort  are  to  be  found  in  D'AIviella's  Hibbert  Lectures  {e.g.,  p.  168). 
Mill's  Essay  on  ** Nature"  (in  his  Three  Essavs  on  Religion)  is  still 
worth  reading,  with  the  view  of  clearing  up  this  confusion.  Cf. 
also  Marshall's  Principles  of  Economics  (3d  Edn.),  pp.  55-57. 

2  Cf.  Le  Rossignol's  Ethical  Philosophy  of  Samuel  Clarke,  p.  43.  Mr 
Leslie  Stephen's  comment  on  Clarke's  doctrine  {English  Thought 
in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  vol.  ii.,  p.  7.)  may  be  worth  noticing  here 
"  An  obvious  difficulty,"  he  says.  "  underlies  all  reasoning  of  this  class, 
even  in  its  most  refined  shape.  The  doctrine  might,  on  the  general 
assumptions  of  Clarke's  philosophy,  be  applicable  to  the  '  Laws  of 
Nature,'  but  is  scarcely  to  be  made  applicable  to  the  moral  law 
Every  science  is  potentially  deducible  from  a  small  number  of  pri- 
mary truths.  .  .  .  Thus,  for  example,  a  being  of  sufficient  knowledge 
might  construct  a  complete  theory  of  human  nature,  of  which  every 
proposition  would  be  either  self-evident  or  rigorously  deducible  from 
self-evident  axioms.  Such  propositions  would  take  the  form  of 
laws  in  the  scientific,  not  in  the  moral,  sense  ;  the  copula  would  be 

'  is,'  not '  ought ' ;  the  general  formula  would  be  '  all  men  do  so  and  so, 
not '  thou  Shalt  do  so  and  so.'  .  .  .  The  language  which  he  uses  about 
the  moral  law  is,  in  reality,  applicable  to  the  scientific  law  alone.  It 
might  be  said  with  plausibility  .  .  .  that  the  proposition  'all  men  are 
mortal '  is  capable  of  being  deductively  proved  by  inferences  from 
some  self-evident  axioms.  A  denial  of  it  would,  therefore,  involve 
a  contradiction.  But  the  proposition  '  Thou  shalt  not  kill '  is  a 
threat,  not  a  statement  of  a  truth  ;  and  Clarke's  attempt  to  bring 
it  under  the  same  category  involves  a  confusion  fatal  to  the  whole 
theory.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  confusion  between  the  art  and  the  science  of 
human  conduct."  I  quote  this  passage,  because  it  not  only  brings  out 
what  seems  to  be  the  error  of  Clarke,  in  confounding  natural  and 


§  8.]   VARIOUS  CONCEPTIONS   OF   MORAL  LAW.      1 77. 

-is  "  in  any  such  sense  as  this,  can  never  yield  an 
-oiieht  "  Similar  doctrines  to  that  of  Clarke  have 
frequently  been  put  forward,even  in  quite  recent  times  ; « 
but  they  all  seem  to   labour  under  the   same  fatal   de- 

^^ts    The  Moral  Sense. -If  the  laws  of  nature  or  the 
lavvs  of  God  are  to  yield  us  moral  principles,  it  must  be 
because  they  in  some  way  appeal  to  our  own  conscious- 
ness,  because  we  in  some  way  feel   that  obedience  to 
them  or  observance  of  them  serves  to  reabse  an  idea 
which   we   bring  with   us.     Now  an  obvious  way  of 
making   the   connection  between  such  external  prm- 
dplesLd  our  own   minds  is  to  say  that  we  have  a 
natural  feeling  which  leads  us  to  approve  some  things 
aiid  SLp;o.^^  of  others.     We  are  thus  led  to  the  con- 
ceotion  of  the  moral  sense.  .     ^,,  .       .    „ 

This  point  of  view,  like  most  others  m  Ethics,  has 
had  a  lo^.g  history.  It  connects  itself  essentially  w.th 
the  Greek  view  of  the  identity  between  the  Beaut>  ul 
'^:,  ?he  Good.  In  Greek  r.  ^f^  was  used  habmiaUy 
either  for  beauty  or  for  moral  excellence.  Th^^'jjj 
Stoic  maxim,  8n  ,.6..  ayaOi.  r6  xaA-iv  means  that  only 
the  beautiful  {i.  e.  the  morally  excellent)  -«  good^  A 
Lilar  view  has  frequently  appeared  m  modern  t.mes 
ihns  the  philosopher  Herbart  insisted  strongly  on  the 
Went'ity  of  Goodness  with  Beauty,  and  definitely  treated 

.ora,  law,  but  a,so  iUustrates  the  other  error  ojcon^^^^^^^^^^ 

,aw  with  the  command  o  ^''Ttat  ment  of  a  nomative  principle, 
law,  is  not  a  threat,  but  the  ^'^'^"f"'  °' ^„_ti„g  Ethics  as  the 
Similarly,  there  seems  to  be  an  error  m  representmg  e.i 

art  of  conduct  :„.t,nce  —so  far  as  he  had  a 

1  The  theory  of  James  Hmton,  for  mstance,    5°  '^r  a 

Eth. 


178 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  11. 


Ethics  as  a  part  of  Esthetics.  ^  The  conception  of  a 
kind  of  feeling,  like  aesthetic  feeling,  accompanying  the 
moral  judgment,  comes  out  also  in  some  of  the  writers 
of  the  school  known  as  the  Cambridge  Platonists, 
especially  in  Henry  More.  But  the  writers  who  are 
specially  known  as  the  representatives  of  the  idea  of  a 
moral  sense  are  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson.=»  "Should 
one,"  says  Shaftesbury,3  ''who  had  the  countenance  of 
a  gentleman,  ask  me, 'Why  I  would  avoid  being  nasty, 
when  nobody  was  present  ? '  In  the  first  place  I  should 
be  fully  satisfied  that  he  himself  was  a  very  nasty  gen- 
tleman who  could  ask  this  question  ;  and  that  it  would 
be  a  hard  matter  for  me  to  make  him  even  conceive 
what  true  cleanliness  was.    However,  I  might,  notwith- 

1  See,  for  instance,  his  Science  of  Education,  recently  translated 
by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Felkin  ;  and  cf.  Bosanquefs  History  of  Esthetics, ju 
3691  We  may  also  refer,  in  this  connection,  to  thesayin^^  of  Ruskin, 
"Taste  is  not  only  a  part  and  an  index  of  morality;  it  is  the  only 
morality.  The  first  and  last  and  closest  trial  question  to  any  living 
creature  is,  '  What  do  you  like  ?  Tell  me  what  you  like,  and  I  will 
tell  you  what  you  are.'"  {Sesame  and  Lilies).  See  also  Adam 
Smith's  Theory  of  the  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  IV.,  sect.  II.,  and  cf.  the 
saying  of  Aristotle  quoted  above.  Book  I.,  chap,  iii.,  §  5. 

a  Shaftesbury  was  the  founder  of  this  school,  and  its  subsequent 
development  was  due  chiefly  to  Hutcheson.  See  Sidgwick's  History 
of  Ethics,  p.  189.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  point  out  that  the  meaning 
of  the  term  "  sense,"  as  here  used,  is  different  from  that  in  which  we 
speak  of  the  sense  of  taste,  touch,  sight,  &c.  The  latter  "  senses  " 
are  concerned  simply  with  the  apprehension  of  particular  qualities 
of  objects  ;  whereas  the  moral  sense  or  the  sense  of  beauty  passes 
judgment  on  such  qualities.  The  meaning  of  calling  it  a  moral  sense 
is  merely  to  imply  that  it  is  an  intuitive  faculty  of  judgment  Simi- 
larly, we  might  say  that  the  judgments  of  the  epicure  or  of  the  tea- 
taster  rest  upon  a  sense  ;  but  it  is  not  on  the  mere  "  sense  of  taste  " 
that  such  judgments  rest,  since  they  involve  a  standard  as  well  as  an 
apprehension. 

8  Characteristics,  "An  Essay  on  the  Freedom  of  Wit  and  Humour." 
Part  III.,  sect.  iv. 


§8.]    VARIOUS   CONCEPTIONS   OF   MORAL   LAW.    1/9 

standing  this,  be  contented  to  give  him  a  slight  answer, 
and  say    '  Twas  because   I   had  a   nose.'     Should  he 
trouble  me  further,  and  ask,  'What  if  I  had  a  cold? 
Or  what  if  naturally  I  had   no  such   nice   smell .?       i 
might    answer  perhaps,   '  That  I  cared  as  little  to  see 
myself  nasty,  as  that  others  should  see  me  in  that  con- 
dition '     But  what  if  it  were  in  the  dark  }     Why  even 
then    though  I  had  neither  nose  nor  eyes,  my  sense 
of  the   matter  would   still   be   the   same  ;  my  nature 
would  rise  at  the  thought  of  what  was  sordid  ;  or  it  it 
did  not,  I  should  have  a  wretched  nature  indeed,  and 
hate  myself  for  a  beast.     Honour  myself  I  never  could  ; 
whilst  I  had  no  better  sense  of  what,  in  reality,  I  owed 
myself,  and  what  became  me,  as  a  human  creature. 
-Much  in   the  same  manner,'  he  goes  on,  -have! 
heard  it   asked,   Why  should  a   man  be  honest  in   the 
dark  ?     What  a  man  must  be  to   ask  this  question,  1 
won't  say."     And  so   on.      Shaftesbury  is  thus   led   to 
conceive  that  to  be  virtuous  is  to  be  a  'virtuoso,   that 
a  cultivated  taste  is  our  only  guide.      ' '  To  philosophise 
in  a  just  signification  is  but  to   carry  good  breeding  a 

step  higher. "  .  .  ^  •  a 

*  The  plausibility  of  this  point  of  view  arises  chiefly 
from  the  fact  that  in  a  well- developed  character  the 
habit  of  obedience  to  the  moral  law  becomes  a  second 
nature,  so  that  the  choice  of  the  right  and  the  avoidance 
of  the  wrong  passes  almost  into  a  kind  of  mstinct. 
From  this  point  of  view  it  may  quite  rightly  be  main- 
tained that  the  moral  sense  is  a  kind  of  taste.  ^     But 

1  Using  the  term  "taste,"  of  course,  in  that  se^«,",d^7Jf"^^.!" 
which  we  speak  of  "  good  taste."  It  is  not  a  taste  like  that  which 
"mpt  ap^^^^^^^  savour,  but  a  taste  like  that  of  the  tea-taster  who 
bTthe  by    improperly  tea-5t.d/.r),  who  ;..^|.5  the  quahti^  of  teas 

by  a  kind  of  intuitive  perception. 


i8o 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  II. 


it  must  be  remembered  that  the  sense  of  beauty,  as 
well  as  the  sense  of  Tightness,  is  capable  of  being 
explained  and  justified.  Though  it  is  commonly  said 
that  **  there  is  no  disputing  about  tastes,"  yet  we  do 
habitually  dispute  about  them,  and  pronounce  them  to 
be  right  or  wrong.  The  moral  taste,  then,  is  so  far 
quite  analogous  to  the  cesthetic  taste,  and  it  may  be 
quite  correct  to  refer  to  it  as  a  sense.'  But  since  it  is 
not  simply  an  inexplicable  sense,  but  is  capable  of  a 
rational  explanation,  no  ethical  theory  can  be  regarded 
as  thorough  which  simply  treats  it  as  a  sense  and  does 
not  endeavour  to  explain  it.  Moreover,  what  can  be 
explained  can  usually  also  be  criticised.  When  the 
sense  of  beauty,  for  instance,  has  been  explained,  it  is 
possible  to  criticise  the  sense  of  beauty  as  it  is  found 
in  particular  individuals ;  and  to  determine  that  the 
aesthetic  taste  of  some  men  is  good,  while  that  of  others 
is  defective.  Similarly,  when  the  moral  sense  is  ex- 
plained, it  will  naturally  be  possible  to  pass  judgment 
on  the  moral  tastes  of  different  individuals  and  even  of 

1  In  this  connection  it  may  be  noted  that  even  complex  intellect- 
ual processes  become,  after  long  practice,  scarcely  distinguish- 
able from  intuitive  perceptions.  A  man  who  is  highly  skilled  in 
any  art  seems  to  see  at  a  glance  what  requires  to  be  done  on 
any  given  occasion.  Yet  we  do  not  postulate  a  §ense  in  such 
cases,  because  "we  know  that  the  judgments  of  the  expert  rest  in 
reality  on  rational  grounds  (though  frequently  he  might  not  be  able 
to  give  any  clear  account  of  the  grounds  of  his  own  judgment).  An 
illustration  of  a  similar  fact  may  be  found  in  "Lord  Mansfield's 
advice  to  a  man  of  practical  good  sense,  who,  being  appointed  gov- 
ernor of  a  colony,  had  to  preside  in  its  Court  of  Justice,  without 
previous  judicial  practice  or  legal  education.  The  advice  was  to 
give  his  decision  boldly,  for  it  would  probably  be  right ;  but  never 
to  venture  on  assigning  reasons,  for  they  would  almost  infallibly  be 
wrong"  (Mill's  Lo;?/V,  Book  II.,  chap,  iii.,  §  3).  In  such  a  case  the 
reasons  of  the  action  are  latent ;  but  no  one  would  doubt  that  reasons 


I  9.]    VARIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  OF  MORAL  LAW.    l8l 

A  r,a+inn<;  For  these  reasons,  then, 
f  SelTlt  v:;tn.ply  rests  conte.t  .^h  t.e 
idea  of  a  moral  serosa,   can  scarcely  be  regarded  as 

"Ifatluer  of  fact,  indeed,  the  moral  sense  was  not 

tn^ed  either  by  Shaftesbury  or  by  Hutcheson   as  a 

accepted  eitner  oy  ^  sought  to  ex- 

^f  ^T:s'i:e\  "hfn  're  of  In  as  a  soil  being. 
Ctththlghtthatwhata  cultivated  moral  taste 
They  b«th  thoug  i^eneficial  to  society  as  a 

ToTe'what  tends  to  bring  about  "  the  greatest  happi- 
ness of  *e  greatest  numbe'r. "  -    All  that  they  urged  was  ^ 
Su   'not  necessary  to  reflect  upon  this  pr.nc^  e  ' 
See  it  is  naturally  embodied  in  any  cultivated  tast^ 
B^t  o    course,  In  morals  we  want  some  prmaple 
Ijut,  01  couia<=,  merelv  to  those  of  cul- 

rr:;'ine-:;^C.""-f  piss,:, ...... 

.  Lx.  .^^^oi  lifp  the  eood  man  seems  to  see 
could  be  found.  So  >"  ^^^^  "Xt  ^f  ,'^ghfto  do,  and  frequently 
instinctively  in  many  "^"^^^f^/'  ^j ^^^ f hat  makes  it  appear  as  if 
could  not  give  any  reason     " 'V«.nse"  involved.    But  the  truth  is 

there  were  some  «P^<='»' .   "°f' """f  f  '  J  thTs  point  of  view,  on  a 
that  even  intellectual  ins.ght  deP^ndMr"^^^^  ^^^^  ^^ 

kind  of  developed  intu.t.on.    ^'^^Xn^T^^7^"&^oLi  ^^>o.i  \t 

know  by  directly  lookmg  at  >'.  ^'.^t^'^/^id,  "does  not  bring 
.■AH  the  thinking  in  '^e  world     as  Goethe  sa  ^^ 

us  to  thought ;  we  must  be  nght  ^Y  "f^--^^  ^°  «    .  g^^^  ^^  „e.' " 

„ay  come  to  us.  like  free  *."d^«"°ff;f„Xon  a  developed  sense 

So  it  is  with  moral  ^""^^1°^:  .}^,^ZToron^  destitute  of  inner 
or  intuition,  but  not  an  umntelhgible  sense,  or  o  ^^^^^^^ 

principle.     "Our  -^''-I'-^Xufothe  principle  which  explains 
M«/mn.cs,  Chap.  I.,  sect,  n  ),   1^^°'.V'^'°,  "  „^„  corroborated  by  the 
that  knowledge  i^elf,  and  w-h:ch       "^^^^um  co^^.^^^.^^  ^^^^^^^ 
existence  of  that  knowledge.     So  it 's  w  un 
iThis  phrase  was  actually  used  by  Hutcheson. 


l82 


ETHICS.    [BK.  11.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  II. 


mankind.  In  this  way  the  moral  sense  differs  from 
the  artistic  sense.  A  man  who  is  deficient  in  the  latter 
may  be  a  respected  member  of  society  ;  but  the  man 
who  lacks  the  former  is  condemned  by  all  who  have 
it.  It  is  this  aiithoritativeness  of  the  moral  sense  that 
is  not  sufficiently  brought  out  when  it  is  regarded  as 
analogous  to  the  sense  of  beauty. 

§9.  The  Law  of  Conscience.— Bishop  Butler  was 
strongly  impressed  by  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  the 
view  of  Shaftesbury  in  this  respect ;  and  he  endeavoured 
to  remedy  the  defect  by  substituting  the  idea  of  Con- 
science for  that  of  the  moral  sense.  In  itself  this  is 
but  a  slight  change  ;  but  by  Conscience  Butler  under- 
stood something  considerably  different  from  what 
Shaftesbury  had  meant  by  the  moral  sense.  Butler 
thought  of  human  nature  as  an  organic  whole,  con- 
taining many  elements,  some  of  which  are  naturally 
subordinate  to  others.  Thus,  there  are  in  our  nature 
a  number  of  particular  passions  or  impulses  which  lead 
us  to  pursue  particular  objects  ;  but  all  these  are  na- 
turally subordinate  to  Self-love,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
to  Benevolence,  on  the  other ;  /.  e.  it  is  natural  for 
us  to  restrain  or  guide  our  passions  with  a  view  to  the 
good  of  ourselves  or  of  others.  But  there  is  a  certain 
principle  in  human  nature  which  is  naturally  superior 
even  to  Self-love  or  Benevolence.  This  is  the  principle 
of  reflection  upon  the  law  of  rightness  ;  and  this  is  what 
Butler  understood  by  Conscience.  He  regarded  this 
vprinciple  as  categorical,  on  account  of  its  place  in  the 
human  constitution.  ''Thus  that  principle,  by  which 
we  survey,  and  either  approve  or  disapprove  our  own 
heart,  temper,  and  actions,  is  not  only  to  be  considered 
as  what  is  in   its  turn  to  have  some  influence  ;  which 


1^ 


1 


I  ,0]  VARIOUS  CONCEPTKKS  OF  MORAL  tA».  ,«3 

..,  .e  s.ia  or  ..«y  p---  "' ^ '"^rl-'r, : 

but  likewise  as  being  superK.r  ,  .^^^^_ 

n^anifestly  claiming  -P^  J^^n   of  this   faculty. 
„.uch  that  you  cannot   om   --^^^  .j.^.tion. 

conscience     -f  ^^  ;,!;"f,,  Wtuent  partofthe  idea, 
superintendency.  ,^Th>^''^''°,d  to  preside  and  govern. 

that  is,  of  the  faculty  itself^  ^^2^,,,^  of  man.belongs 
from  the  very  economy  and  consta  ^^^^^ 

\ji^A  if  <;treno"th,  as  it  has  rignt,  nav*        r 
to  It.     Had  :t  f^^^'\      it  ^^o^id  absolutely  govern 
as  it  has  manifest  auttiomy, 

the  world."  ■  ^^  ^hat  is  the  nature  of  this 

When  we  ask,  ^owever^  wn  ^^^^  ^^ 

authoritative  Pn-P^^'^^^^X  1°  one  view,  it  is 
present  themselves^  ^tcuUy  "'ich  we  find  within  us, 
simply  an  inexphcabe  faculty  ^^  another 

by  which  laws  «^^l=^;'^ '^°"". tie  commands 
view,  it  is  an  intelligible  ^" '^^  a  ion      It  is  not  quite 

ean  -""^.--tiroly^^^^^^^^  ^°"- 

clearin  which  of  these  W     J  ^^^  ^^^  ^^^ 

science  ;  but  --ig    ho  e  who        .^^^^      ^^^  ^^^^^^ 

views  began  to  be  clean)  °  intuitionism, 

view  is  that  which  is  ^^^T^l^Txi^:...  of  a  law 
in  the  narrower  sense  :   the  other 

of  Reason.  •♦:„„;om  '  maybe  described 

1  Sermon  II.  _.      jntuitionists  hold  that  we 

2  From  Latin,  mtuen,  to  look  at  i  ,  ^^-^^g  at 
perceive  the  rightness  or  ^vrongness  of  ac  -on^  "J  P^>  ^^^^^  „„,. 
fhem,  without  needing  to  cons.der  the  r  ™  ^^^^  .>  ^^_^^^^,,^ 
side  themselves.    It  may  ^e  "^  ^d  here  t.                      ^^^^^^^^  j^^,„ 


1 84 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CII.  III.,  PT.  II. 


according  to  their  own  intrinsic  nature,  and  not  in  vir- 
tue of  any  ends  outside  themselves  which  they  tend  to 
realise.  Thus,  truth-speaking  would  be  regarded  as  a 
duty,  not  because  it  is  essential  for  social  well-being, 
or  for  any  other  extrinsic  reason,  but  because  it  is  right 
in  its  own  nature. »  This  theory  has  been  held  in  vari- 
ous forms,  more  or  less  philosophical  in  character.  For 
a  full  account  of  these  forms  reference  must  be  made 
to  histories  of  Ethics  and  Philosophy.^  Here  it  is  only 
possible  to  notice  the  leading  points. 

In  the  narrower  sense  of  the  term,  Intuitionism  is 
understood  to  mean  the  doctrine  which  refers  the  judg- 
ment upon  actions  to  the  tribunal  of  Conscience,  under- 
stood as  a  faculty  which  admits  of  no  question  or 
appeal. 

When  conscience  is  thus  referred  to  as  the  funda- 
mental  principle    of    morals,    we    must    not    under- 

1  It  should  be  observed  that  there  is  a  certain  ambiguity  in  the 
use  of  the  term  Intuitionism.  It  is  employed  in  a  wider  and  in  a 
narrower  sense.  In  the  narrower  sense  it  means  a  doctrine  which 
traces  our  moral  judgments  to  some  unanalysable  form  of  perception, 
some  purely  intuitive  conviction  of  which  no  rational  account  can 
be  given.  In  this  acceptation  of  the  term,  Kant  and  his  forerunners, 
Clarke,  Wollaston,  &c.,  were  not  intuitionists  ;  for  Kant  at  least 
rested  the  moral  judgment  on  the  practical  reason,  not  on  percep- 
tion. But  in  a  wider  sense  all  the  writers  of  this  class  may  be  char- 
acterised as  intuitionists  ;  since  they  appeal  to  self-evident  laws, 
rather  than  to  any  conception  of  a  good  with  reference  to  which 
our  moral  actions  may  be  regarded  as  means. 

2  For  the  best  modern  statement  of  the  intuitionist  doctrine,  the 
student  should  consult  Martineau's  Types  of  Ethical  Theory,  Part  II. 
An  excellent  criticism  of  intuitionism  will  be  found  in  Sidgwick's 
Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chaps,  viii.  and  ix.,  and  Book  III.  For 
the  history  of  the  subject,  see  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  especially 
pp.  224—236.  Also  pp.  170—204.  Caldcrwood's  Handbook  of  Moral 
Philosophy  may  also  be  referred  to. 


I    TO.]  VARIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  OF  MORAL  LAW.      185 
.   >  .«  mean  the  conscience  of  this  or  that  indi- 

mony  of  his  action  wiin  ^.^^ 

known  as  a  ''fanatic.    ' 

"""'•TSer?"  :r:hr  ButS  slys  ^of   the 
science  ,s  a  ^hune  a  ^^  .^  ^^^  ^^^.^^^^ 

conscience  that      >f>tha^P  ^^^  ^,^^5^  .,  ^, 

authority,  it  would  absolutely  g 
when,  in  general,  intuitionist  -"ters  refer  to^^ 
science  as  the  supreme  princ.p  e  o    ^^orals,^  ^^^^^^  ^^^ 
n^ean  by  conscience  is  -*f;^\^^  ^^^^^  ^uimate  recog- 

is  latent  in  all  men,  but  which  ,n  some  >«en 
,,Uy  developed  than  ^  ^lJ^^^:L^ 
which  this  recognition  is  "^^^^'l^^'T^^^^^^  t^gy  are 
to  as  principles  of  Common  Sense,  because  ttiey 

.     ^         •    R  A     It  is  there  explained  that  we 
-.   7.  above.  Book  I    chap.  v..  §^    It  -  the  P^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^ 

judg.   he  action  to  be  wrong  because  n  is  ^^^     g^^ 

motive,    n  may,  however,  appear  to  the  a^ent  to 

'"rseft'^he  '°e^ace  :;  S«'-,  EU„.en,s  of  EtH^cs  (AbboCfs 
translation),  pp.  31'  and  321. 


r 


1 86 


ETHICS,     [bk.  II.,  CH.  III.,  rx.  ii. 


supposed  to  be  common  or  universal  throughout  the 

whole  human  race. ' 

The  principles  of  common  sense  have  been  referred 
to  by  some  writers^  as  if  they  were  simply  certain 
moral  truths  which  arc  found  unaccountably  in  the 
consciousness  of  mankind.  Against  this  view  there  is 
the  same  objection  as  there  is  against  the  correspond- 
ing view  with  regard  to  intellectual  truth.  It  conflicts 
with  a  principle  which  is  deeper  than  any  other  principle 
of  common  sense  can  well  be — the  principle,  namely, 
that  the  world  must  be  regarded  as  an  intelligible  sys- 
tem of  which  a  definite  account  can  be  given  before  the 
bar  of  reason.  If  this  principle  is  a  mistaken  one,  it  is 
hard  to  believe  that  there  can  be  any  other  that  has 
a  deeper  claim  to  be  regarded  as  of  universal  validity. 
The  inadequacy  of  conscience  as  a  basis  of  morals 
becomes  further  apparent  when  we  endeavour  to  de- 
termine  definitely   what  principles  are  laid  down  by 


1  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  there  is  a  certain  ambiguity  in  the  use 
of  the  term  "  conscience."  There  is  another  ambiguity,  to  which 
we  shall  have  occasion  to  refer  by  and  by.  Conscience  is  frequently, 
perhaps  even  generally,  understood  to  denote,  not  the  principles  of 
moral  judgment,  but  the  feeling  of  pain  which  accompanies  the 
violation  of  moral  law.  When  we  speak  of  "the  voice  of  con- 
science," and  of  conscience  as  laying  down  laws,  we  are  of  course 
not  speaking  of  it  as  a  mere  feeling  of  pain,  but  as  containing  prin- 
ciples in  accordance  with  which  we  form  our  moral  judgments. 
The  confusion  which  results  from  this  ambiguity  in  the  use  of  the 
term  is  well  brought  out  by  Mr.  Muirhead  in  his  Elements  of  Ethics 
pp.  78-9.  Cf.  also  Porter's  Elements  of  Moral  Science,  p.  246.  And 
see  above,  Note  at  end  of  Book  I. 

2  Especially  Reid  and  the  other  members  of  the  so-called  Scotch 
School.  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  226-233.  ^^-  Marti- 
neau's  theory  is  essentially  a  carrying  out  of  this  view.  On  the 
other  hand,  such  a  book  as  Janet's  Theory  of  Morals  represents  a 
more  rational  interpretation  of  the  intuitional  principles. 


§  10.]    VARIOUS  CONCEPTIONS  OF  MORAL  LAW.     1 87 

it.     The  content  of  conscience,   even  if  we  mean  by 
the  conscience  of  a  people  or  an  age,  rather  than 
hat  of  an  individual,  is  found  to  vary  very  cons.der- 
Iby  in  different  times  and  countries  ;  and  even  at  the 
Zle  time  and  place  the  rules  that  are  la>d  down  by  it 
a^of  a  very  uncertain  character..     Reflection  shows 
ToreoJer   that  these  variations  are  not  arbitrary,  but 
r4  a  d  stinct  reference  to  the  utility  of  actions  under 
va  y i.t<;conditions  for  the  realisation  of  human  welfare^ 
This  hts  been  well  brought  out  in  the  very  thorough 
examination  of  Comn.on  Sense  Morality  which  is  g.ven 
'rr  Sidgwick's  Memods  of  Ethics.^    From  th,s  it 
appears    St  the  moral  sense  must  not  be  regarded  as 
a  blind    acuity,  laying  down  principles  for  our  guid- 
Lc    wh  ch  are  not  capable  of  any  further  analysis  or 
•ustifilation.     On  the  contrary,  the  principles  which  it 
Ty    down  can  be  rationally  justified  and  explained 
/act.  it  is  only  by  such  justification  and  explana  Uc^n 

that  we  can  distinguish  what  is  Pf  — ?' .^ "'^J^^  J^, 
•  •  ^f  orM^cripnce  from  what  is  variauic 

in   the  decisions  ot  conscience  wkjvi. 

'nd  untrustworthy.     But  when  we  thus  draw  d.ti     - 

tions  and  pass  judgment  upon  conscience  itself,  it  is 

Ivident  that  we  mu!t  somehow  have  conscience  be 

hind  conscience,  a  faculty  of  judgment  which  stands 

above  the  blind  law  of  the  heart  u„„,.ver 

Ul.  The   Law  of  REASON.-The    view     however 

which  holds  that  there  are  certain  universal  principles 

of  moral  truth   in   the   human    -nsciousness   is   no 

necessarily  pledged  to  regard  these  principles  as  unin 

1  see  Locke's  E.say  ConcerniH  Hu.an  l^^f"''^"^'  ^'^^  '• 

chap,  ni.,  and  ^P-^^'f  [i*  "4f  t^a  sl-ry  "^  ^^  ^idg- 

a  See  especially  Book  III.,  chap,  xi.,  loi  a 
wick's  carefully  reasoned  conclusions  on  this  point. 


i88 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  II. 


telligible.  Just  as  Kant  held  that  there  are  certain 
principles  of  intellectual  truth — what  he  called  categories 
— which  belong  to  the  nature  of  all  intelligent  beings 
as  such,  so  it  may  be  held  also  that  there  are  certain 
universal  principles  of  moral  truth.  And  just  as  the 
categories  of  our  intellectual  life  may  be  deduced  from 
the  very  nature  of  thoui^ht,  so  also  the  principles  of  our 
moral  life  may  be  capable  of  a  rational  deduction. 
There  may  be  principles  of  our  moral  life  which  are  as 
obvious  to  us,  when  we  reflect  upon  them,  as  that  2  -|- 
2  =  4,  or  that  every  event  must  have  a  cause  ;  and  yet 
it  may  be  possible,  as  in  these  latter  cases  it  is,  to  see, 
on  further  reflection,  why  it  is  that  these  principles  are 
obvious.  If  this  were  so,  the  intuitions  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness would  in  reality  be  due  to  a  kind  of  rational 
insight.  They  would  be  a  manifestation  of  what 
might  be  called  moral  reason.  This  is  the  view  of  the 
deeper  intuitionists,  of  whom  Clarke  may  be  taken  as  a 
type  ;  ^  for  the  law  of  reason,  in  this  sense,  is  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  what  was  referred  to  above  as  the 
law  of  nature.  The  Stoics,  and  most  other  writers  who 
have  referred  to  a  law  of  nature,  have  also  described  it 
as  the  law  of  reason — nature  being  nearly  always  con- 
ceived by  them  as  in  some  sense,  a  rational  system.  ^ 

1  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  179 — 184.  A  similar  view 
seems  to  be  represented  by  Janet  in  his  Theory  of  Morals,  Book  III., 
chap.  iv.  Janet  holds  that,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  diversities  of 
moral  sentiment  in  different  peoples  brought  out  by  such  writers  as 
Locke  and  Spencer,  there  are  yet  certain  latent  principles  which  are 
the  same  in  all  men,  and  to  which  a  final  appeal  may  be  made. 
This  view  seems  not  inconsistent  with  the  recognition  that  particular 
individuals  and  races  may  have  a  very  imperfect  apprehension  of 
the  ultimate  principles  involved  in  their  moral  judgments. 

2  When  the  law  of  nature  is  thus  conceived  as  a  principle  of  reason, 
it  comes  to  be  thought  of  as  normative. 


5  „  1  VVWOOS  CONCEPTIONS  OF  MORAL  LAW.    ,89 

comes  to  be  conceivea  ^  ;   ^^  ^^^  analogy 

sents  this  tendency  in  its  moset-^^^^^^^^       ^^^.^^  ^^ 

evil,  --t^^n'l  dtl  Ig  ol  the'  affirmation  of  it.      , 
a  true  position,  and  moral  g  ^^^ 

To  steal  is  --"^  ^^  ^op  ^ty  of  -other.     Every 
stolen  is  what  it  is    the  Prope"y  ^ 

nght  action  is  Jie  affirmation  of  a  t.uth^,^^        y  ^^^^  ^^ 

action  is  the  denial  of  ^  t™"- .        ,  .<  j^ad  convinced 

profound  -trrTa^o:  C-^^  . 

Wollaston  that  the  reason  wi  y  _ 

Ureakinghis  wife's  head  vvas^  hat  >t  was  y^^^^  ^^^ 

T'^'^tJ^^^^^r.o^^ro.^  thehody.  it  is 
Sy  a^^i^d  way  of  denying  that  ^^^^ 
abrother;and  the  evil  l^^snotu    he^o  ,, 

in  the  error.    "  It  is  worse  than  a  cm^e  ^t .  .^ 

^"  ^''  ''':  r  J^ttt'tironrentithfact :  it  is  in- 
inconsistent ;  but  it  is  not  instance,  which 

3  What  is  said  above  refers  ^P^"^"^ 'o  7 JJre  definitely  on  the . 
wollaston.    With  Locke  Eth.cs  -s  conce.^^^^^^^  ^°  ^^  ^^^^  ,,„„„3tra. 
analogy  of  n>="hematics.    He  thinks  o^  ^^^  proceeding  by 

live  sciences,  starting  with  nommal  ^efim     ^^,^^  ^^„,  „i,concep. 
the  law  of  self -consistency.    This  seems 


190 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  Cli.  III.,  PT.  III. 


A  more  ingenious  and  suggestive  form  of  this 
doctrine  was  put  forward  by  Kant,  who  argued  that 
bad  actions  are  essentially  inconsistent  with  them- 
selves ;  or  at  least  that  there  is  an  inconsistency  in  the 
principle  upon  which  they  proceed.  His  view  on  this 
point  is  so  important  that  we  must  examine  it  at  some 
length. 

PART  III.    THE  DOCTRINE  OF  KANT. 

§  12.  Kant's  View  of  the  Moral  Reason.  — Kant  argued 
that,  since  the  moral  imperative  is  categorical,  it  cannot 
be  derived  from  the  consideration  of  any  end  outside  of 
the  will  of  the  individual.      For  every  external  end  is 
empirical,  and  could  give  rise  only  to  a  hypothetical 
imperative.     We  should  only  be  entitled  to  say  that,  if 
we  seek  that  end,  we  are  bound  to  act  in  a  particular 
way,  with  a  view  to  its  attainment.      Kant  held,  there- 
fore, that  the  absolute  imperative  of  duty  has  no  refer- 
ence to  any  external  ends  to  which  the  will  is  directed, 
but  simply  to  the   right   direction   of  the    will   itself. 
''There  is  nothing  good  but  the  good  will ;  "  and  this  is 
good  in  itself,  not  with  reference  to  any  external  facts. 
It  must  have  its  law  entirely  within  itself.     If  the  im- 
perative which  it  involves  were  dependent  on  any  of 
the  facts  of  experience,  which  are  by  their  nature  con- 
tingent, it  would  itself  be  contingent,  and  could  not  be 
an  absolute  law.     It  follows  from  this  that  the  moral 
law  cannot  have  any  particular  content.      It  cannot  tell 

tion  of  the  nature  both  of  mathematics  and  of  morals.  Geometry 
does  not  start  simply  with  nominal  definitions.  It  starts  with  the 
conception  of  space.  Similarly,  Ethics  does  not  start  with  arbitrary 
definitions  of  justice,  &c.,  but  with  the  conception  of  the  concrete 
human  ideal.  This  is  a  subject,  however,  into  which  we  cannot  enter 
with  any  fulness  here. 


II.]  THE   DOCTRINE   OF   KANT. 


191 


US  anv  particular  things  that  we  are  to  do  or  to  abstam 
rom  do^ng;  because  all  particular  things  have  n.  them 
iremprical  and  contingent  element,   and  the  moral 
WW  Tan    have   no   reference   to    any   such    element, 
nice  the  moral  law  cannot  tell  us  what  the  matter  or 
rrtent  of  our  actions  ought  to  be  :  it  can  only  mstruc 
us  with  regard  to  the/.r...     But  a  pure  form,  without 
any  matte?,  must  be  simply  the  form  of  law  m  general 
That  is  to  say   the  moral  law  can  tell  us  nothmg  mo  e 
Ian  that  w^  ^re  to  act  in  a  way  that  is  conformable  to 
aw      And  this  means  simply  that  our   actions  mus 
have  a  certain  self-consistency-/.  ..  that  the  prmaples 
on  which  we  act  must  be  principles  that  we  can  adopt 
louehout  the  whole  of  our  lives,  and  that  we  can 
T^fZ^^  ^-es  of  others.     Kant  is  thus  led  to  give 
:rthe    content    of    the    categorical     i-Pe-t-    th. 
formula-- Act   only    on    that    maxim      or   prmciple) 
wS  thou  canst  at  the  same  time  will  to  become  a 

""Tt^^   the   application   of  this  formula   by 
taking  such  a  case  as  that  of  breaking  promises      It  is 
vronl  to  break  a  promise,  because  the  breach  of  a 
nromfse  is  a  kind  of  action  which  could  not  be  univer- 
Zed      If  it  were  a  universal  rule  that    ev-^^^^^^^^ 
were  to  break  his  promise,  whenever  he  ^^It  inclined 
no  one  would  place  any  reliance  -Promises^    Prom 
ises   in  fact,  would  cease  to  be  made.    And  of  course, 
ithey   were   not  made,  they   could  not  be  broken^ 
nJi'ce  it  would  be  impossible  for  everyone  to  break 
his  promise.     And  since  it  is  impossible  for  every  one, 
it  m'ust  be  wrong  for  any  one.     The  essence  of  wrong- 
.    doing  consists  in  making  an  exception. 

J  Metaphysic  of  Morals,  section  1 1. 


'92  ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CM.  III.,  PT.  III. 

Similarly,  it  may  easily  be  shown  that  we  could  not 
without  a  certain  absurdity,  have  universal  suicide, '  or 
universal  stealing,  or  even  universal  indifference  to  the 
misfortunes  of  others.     Since,  then,  we  cannot  really 
will  that  such  acts  should  be  done  by  every  one   we 
have  no  right  to  will  that   we   ourselves  should  do 
them.     In  fact,  the  moral  law  is— .\ct  only  in  such  a 
way  as  you  could  will  that  every  one  else  should  act 
under  the  same  general  conditions. 
I       §  13.  Criticism  of  Kant,    (i)    Formalism.— \i  seems 
clear  that  the  principle  laid  down  by  Kant  affords  in 
j    111. ny  cases  a  safe  negative  guide  in  conduct.     If  we 
cannot  will  that  all  men  should,  under  like  conditions, 
act  as  we  are  doing,  we  may  generally  be  sure  that 
we   are   acting   wrongly.     When,     however,    we    en- 
deavour to  extract  posilive  guidance  from  the  formula 
-when  we  try  to  ascertain,  by  means  of  it,  not  merely 
what   we   should   abstain    from   doing,   but  what  we 
should   do— it   begins    to   appear   that  it  is  merely  a 
formal  principle,'  from   which  no  definite  matter  can 
be  derived  ;  and  further  consideration  may  lead  us  to 
see   that   it   cannot   even    give   us   quite   satisfactory 
negative  guidance. 

We  must  first  observe,  however,  what  was  the  exact 

1  This  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  points  to  prove  in  at  all  a  satis 
lactory  way.     Kanfs  argument  is  ingenious,  but  hardly  convrndng 
See  he  criticisms  on  Kant  in  Mills  Vmitariamsm.  chap,  i    p  \ 

PhaosothyofKant'pv.  ,,9-20,  &c.     For  a  full  discussion  of  Kanfs 

chap.  I.  Mr.  Abbott,  m  his  translation  of  Kanfs  Theory  of  Ethics 
pp.  xhx-lv,  partly  defends  Kanfs  point  of  view,  but  does  not  succeed 
m  showing  that  it  leads  to  results  that  are  practically  helpful 


1 


ff  13.-I  THE  DOCTRINE  OF   KANT.  193 

meaning  that  Kant  put  upon  his  principle.     It  is  evident 
that  it  might  be  interpreted  in  two  very  different  ways. 
It  mieht  be  taken  to  refer  to  general  species  of  con- 
duct  or  it  might  be  taken  to  refer  to  particular  acts, 
with  all  the  limitations  of  time,  place,  and  circumstance. 
It  was  in  the  former  sense  that  the  principle  was  under- 
stood by  Kant  ;  ■  but  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that 
there  is  also  a  possibility  of  the  latter  interpretation. 
The  difference  between  the  two  might  be  illustrated 
for  instance,  in  the  case  of  stealing.     Accordmg  to  the 
former   interpretation,  stealing  must   m    all   cases  be 
condemned,  because  its  principle  cannot  be   univer- 
salised.     According  to  the  latter  interpretation  it  wou  d 
be  necessary,   in   each  particular  "-f-  ^   "^  t 
there  is  a  temptation  to  steal,  to  consider  whether  it  s 
possible  to  will  that  every  human  being  should  steal 
Ihen  placed  under  precisely  similar   cond^ons      The 
former  interpretation  would  evidently  give  us  a  very 
St  view  of  duty,  while  the  latter  might  easily  give 

US  a  very  lax  one.  .    . 

Now  il  we  accept,  as  Kant  does,  the  former  of  these 
two  interpretations,  it  seems  clear  that  the  pnncple  is 
'  1  purely  formal  one,  from  which  the  P-t-ular  rnatte 
of  conduct  cannot  be  extracted.     In  order  to  app  y  i 
at  all.  we  must  presuppose  a  certain  given  material. 

u    tro«t  tnnk  this  view  is,  that  he  thought  that  a 
Eth.  ^ 


i 


194 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CII.  III.,  PT.  III. 


Thus,  in  order  to  show  that  stealing  leads  to  self-con- 
tradiction, we  must  presuppose  the  existence  of  pro- 
perty.    It  is  inconsistent  to  take  the  property  of  another, 
if  we  recognise  the  legitimacy  of  private  property  ;  but 
if  any  one  denies  this,  there  is  no  inconsistency  in  his 
acting  accordingly.     In  order  to  apply  Kant's  principle, 
therefore,  it  is  necessary  first  to  know  what  presuppo- 
sitions we  are   entitled  to  make.      Otherwise,  there  is 
scarcely  any  action  which  might  not  be  shown  to  lead 
to  inconsistency.      For  instance,  the  relief  of  distress, 
the  effort  after  the  moral  improvement  of  society,  and 
the  like,  might  be  said  to  lead  to  inconsistency  ;  for  if 
every  one  were  engaged  in  these  actions,  it  would  be 
unnecessary  for  any  one   to  engage  in  them.     They 
are  necessary  only  because  they  are  neglected.     The 
only  difference  between   these  cases   and  that  of  theft 
or  of  promise-breaking,  is  that  in  the  one  set  of  cases 
the  abolition  of  the  activity   would   lead   to  what  is 
regarded  as  a  desirable  result— the  cessation  of  distress 
or  immorality  ;  while  in  the  other  set  of  cases  it  would 
lead  to  what  is  regarded  as  an  undesirable  result — the 
cessation  of  property  or  of  promises.     But  when  we 
ask  why  the  one  result  is  to  be  regarded  as  desirable 
and  the  other  as  undesirable,  there  is  no  answer  from 
the  Kantian  point  of  view.     All  that  the  Kantian  prin- 
ciple enables  us  to  say  is  that,  assuming  certain  kinds 

dence.  See  Abbott,  pp.  296—302.  Thus,  the  positive  side  of  duty 
would  be  derived  largely  from  utilitarian  considerations,  while  the 
moral  reason  would  simply  urge  us  to  be  self-consistent.  Kant's 
view  thus  approximated  to  that  developed  in  recent  times  by  Dr. 
Sidgwick.  See  below,  chap.  iv.  But  on  this  point,  as  on  many 
others,  Kant  kept  the  different  sides  of  his  theory  in  separate  com- 
partments of  his  mind,  and  never  really  brought  them  together. 
Cf.  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  Book  II.,  chaps,  vi.  and  vii. 


■^ 


\ 


13-1 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  KANT. 


195 


Of  conduct  to  be  in  general  right,  we  must  not  make 
exceptions  on  our  own  ^ehaU.  ^^^  ^^^^^^ 

H,  on  the  other  h-d   we  we  e  t^  ^^  ^^P    ^.^^.^^^  ^^ 

of  the  two  P°^^'*^^^ ;"*^'P'   nossible  to  derive  from  it 

oictpnrv   it  would  not  be  possiDie  lu 
consistency,       w  -„ount  of  instruction,     for 

even  this  very  mode  ate  anioun  ^  ^^^^ 

,0  say  that  we  ^l^^'l^^l^rt^^^^  beings,  under 
,ve  could  will  that  ^^^^2^\^^^^^  act  similarly,  is 
exactly  the  same  cond.t  ons    sho  ^^^^  ^^ 

I  merely  to  say  that  we  are  *«  ^^^  '"     ^.^  /^^  course 

'  rr  Zts:%TJ:inrZZ  one  else  in  liUe 
of  actio..,  '■«  ■'^'y"  .,t,„,„  Consequently,  from 
condition.  .houlJ  ^1.  '  "  "tduct  wtat.ve,  c.n   1» 

'j;;.:rT.'*.irp.v  tow.  -  ->•*  -'» "-  ""-•'■"' 

•"C  p."."  m'of  Kant,  Wn,  tho-  ^-^^^ 

r."?.;:.  crcr.t ,  t:z.y  .....t  ti,.t  ,.ot.i  =»» 

See  preceding  note.    It  may 
1  Or  upon  utilitarian  considerations^  P  ^^^  ^^^^.^^  ^^ 

be  remarked  that  this  difftculty  in  Kant  arises 
his  philosophical  point  of  view.  ^  ^^^ 

:;&r^--5:rr:?n,^.f:::-U.»..»""- 

considering. 


196 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  Ill 


is  deficient.^  Still  on  the  whole  any  conflict  with  that 
sense  must  be  regarded  as  a  primd  facte  presumption 
against  an  ethical  system  in  which  it  occurs  ;  and, 
along  with  other  criticisms,  may  help  to  overthrow 
it.  Now  there  are  two  distinct  ways  in  which  the 
Kantian  system  appears  to  be  much  too  rigorous. 

{a)  In  the  first  place,  according  to  the  Kantian  view 
no  conduct  can  be  regarded  as  truly  virtuous  which 
rests  on  feeling.  Conduct  is  right  only  in  so  far  as  it 
1  is  dictated  by  the  moral  reason  ;  and  the  moral  reason 
is  a  purely  formal  principle,  which  has  no  connection 
with  any  of  the  feelings  or  passions  of  human  nat- 
ure. But  much  of  the  conduct  that  men  commonly 
praise,  springs  rather  from  feeling  than  from  any  direct 
application  of  reason.  =*  This  has  been  strikingly 
expressed  by  Wordsworth  in  his  Ode  io  Duty— 

"  There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth  : 

Glad  hearts !  without  reproach  or  blot ; 

Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not."« 

1  We  shall  see  later  (chap,  vi.)  that  few  ethical  writers  are  pre- 
pared to  go  against  the  developed  moral  sense  of  mankind  ;  and,  in 
particular,  it  is  certain  that  Kant  himself  was  not. 

2  Kant's  point  of  view  might  be  illustrated  by  the  famous  declara- 
tion of  Sir  T.  Browne  in  his  Religio  Medici :  "  I  give  no  alms  to 
satisfy  the  hunger  of  my  brother,  but  to  fulfil  and  accomplish  the  will 
and  command  of  my  God."  Contrast  this  attitude  with  that  of  the 
philanthropist  who  is  actuated  simply  by  love  of  those  whom  he 
seeks  to  benefit,  and  it  is  at  once  evident,  even  to  the  plainest  com- 
mon sense,  that  the  latter  is  immeasurably  the  higher  of  the  two. 
Indeed,  it  would  scarcely  be  a  paradox  to  say  that,  in  such  cases,  the 
more  purely  a  man  is  guided  by  love,  and  the  less  conscious  he  is 
of  performing  a  duty,  the  better  his  action  is.    But  see  next  note. 

8  Schiller  has  an  even  more  emphatic  utterance  on  the  same  point 
in  his  Doem  Der  Genius,  beginning,  "  Must  I  distrust  my  impulse  ?" 


R  14  ]  THE  DOCTRINE   OF  KANT.  ^97 

!xp  elsed  his  dissatisfaction  in  the  form  of  an  epigram^ 
He  supposes  an  ethical  inquirer  to  bring  the  following 
difficulty  before  a  Kantian  philosopher- 

r  •     J    u„t  T  Hr.  it  alas  '  with  affection. 

And  he  represents  him  as  receiving  the  following  an- 
swer — 

Of  course  this  is  a  gross  exaggeration  of  Kant's  posi- 
tion    L  he  would  not  demand  the  presence  of  abho- 
'  ,»„  thP  absence  of  affection.     Still,  it  is 

;::r;hrhLrot  recognise  the  possibility  of  the 
performLce  of  duty  from  feeling  as  contrasted  with 

and  ending,  "  What  thou  p.easest .'°  ^^J '^^^f  ;^;/;:,"'S 
is  more  philosophically  expressed  m  he  treaUse  Lcbe^^  ^^^         ^^^ 

Wurdc,  where  he  says,  »'^°"f  ?*''.*;"^;i;tion  to  one  another  ;  he 
but  sho^M  bring  pleasure  and  duty  '"to  ^elat  °  ^^  ^^ 

should  obey  his  reason  with  ,oy.  ^^*!,Xt  represented  by  Kant ; 
carry  al.  this  to  the  OPP-'?  ^7^,^^  x  re^eof  the  twi  The 
and  perhaps  Kants  is  the  'e^\°^"f  ™  j  ^e  justified  by  a  mere 
over-indulgent  parent,  for  >"='»"^\^;j';";^'^e  are  entitled  to  say  is 
appeal  to  an  impulse  of  affection.    A"  that  we  a 

Zi  a  man  will  often  be  led  '°  *«  Pf^trnTss  o°  aw  and  that  duty 
far  more  effectively  than  by  the  wnsciousness  ot        ,  ^^^^ 

V. ;  and  see  above,  Book  I.,  chap,  in.,  §  S 


198 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  III. 


A        % 


the  performance  of  it  from   the   mere  sense   of  duty- 
given  by  the  moral  reason. 

{b)  Another  respect  in  which  the  rigour  of  Kant's 
point  of  view  appears,  is  this,  that  he  permits  of  no 
exceptions  to  his  moral  imperatives.  Now  the  moral 
sense  of  the  best  men  seems  to  say  that  there  is  no 
commandment,  however  sacred  (unless  it  be  the  com- 
mandment of  love),  that  does  not  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances release  its  claims.  This  objection  was 
very  forcibly  put  by  Jacobi  in  an  indignant  protest 
against  the  Kantian  system,  which  he  addressed  to 
Fichte. '  *' Yes,"  he  exclaims,  "  I  am  the  Atheist,  the 
Godless  one,  who,  in  spite  of  the  will  that  wills  no- 
thing, am  ready  to  lie  as  the  dying  Desdemona  lied  ; 
to  lie  and  deceive  like  Pylades,  when  he  pretended  to 
be  Orestes  ;  to  murder  like  Timoleon  ;  to  break  law 
and  oath  like  Epaminondas,  like  John  de  Witt  ;  to 
commit  suicide  with  Otho  and  sacrilege  with  David, — 
yea,  to  rub  the  ears  of  corn  on  the  Sabbath  day,  merely 


^  It  may  be  observed  that  Fichte  himself,  though  a  disciple  of 
Kant,  laid  stress  chiefly  on  the  Kantian  dictum  that  "an  erring 
conscience  is  a  chimera,"  and  regarded  the  command  to  "  follow 
conscience "  as  the  supreme  moral  principle.  He  regarded  con- 
science, moreover,  not  as  a  principle  which  lays  down  merely 
formal  imperatives,  but  rather  as  one  which  bids  us  advance  along 
the  line  of  rational  development.  Fichte  was  thus  rather  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  school  of  idealistic  evolution,  referred  to  below  in 
chap.  V,  For  this  reason,  Janet  remarks  {Theory  oj  Morals,  p.  264) 
that  Jacobi  ought  to  have  regarded  Fichte  as  essentially  in  agree- 
ment with  himself.  For  Jacobi  also  appealed  to  the  heart  or  moral 
sense  of  the  individual.  But  surely  what  Fichte  meant  by  the 
"  conscience  "  was  a  rational  and  universal  principle  of  guidance, 
very  different  from  a  mere  heart  or  moral  sense.  Cf.  Adamson's 
Fichte,  pp.  193  sqq. ;  Schwegler's  History  of  Philosophy,  pp.  273-4  ; 
Erdmann's  History  of  Philosophy,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  514-16. 


I  14  3  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  KANT.  199 

because  I  am  hungry,  and  ^-use  /.e J..^-^^^^^^^^^ 
am  that  Godle  s  o  ^^^^^^^^   ^^^^  .^   ^^^ 

f "'      .  Beinl     for  with  the  holiest  certitude  that  I 
Supreme  Be,ng     for  ,,,,  of  pardon  m 

have  m  me,  i  Know  mat         r  ^  ^^ 

reference  to  such  t-nsgress^ons  o    t^^^^^ 

absolute  law  of  reason,^s  thchrac1,enst^^  J  ^^^.^^ 

r/atu-::  "'     r^-ll  SriU.  .an  .  ^  called 

f^  ^rt  ''in  blind  obedience  to  the  law. 
upon  to  act      m  ^'''  ,,      heart,  which 

entitled  to  appeal  from  PU- reason  to  the^h^^   -  -* 

i,  mdeed  he  o„ly  faculty  ..^^^^^^.^^^^^^  ,al 
empty.  inisneaiu,  '    ,    .^   t^^r   out   of  my 

Phi^Lphy  will  not  be  -'^J^lZTkX-^  in  i's 
breast,  in  order  to  set  a  P^«  "»P"^J  °;  ^^  f.eed  from 
p,ace.     I  am  not  o-^to  =.1  ^  mys  1^^^^^^  ^,^^^^,. 

the  dependence  ot  love,  in  ui 

"To  w£f  rrnUhis  view  of  Jacohi  is  justifiahle  will 

probably  become  more  -PP^^"^^  ^^^HKant  to 
reality,  it  is  quite  as  one-.ded  -  ^  ^  -,^^^,^,,,  ,, 
which  it  is  opposed.  t  -Us  aU«;t  _,  ^^^.^^.  ^^  ^^ 
the  undue  rigour  of  Kant  s  P     J^  g  ^  j^deed, 

no  exceptions  to  his  moral  ^^P^J^J^^f  ^^^^^j  ^,,  ,^. 

duced,  >t  must  ^^j^'^n  ex     ^ding  all  exceptions,  over- 
the  Kantian  system,  in  exciuamg  ordinary  life 

shoots  the  mark.  ^^^  ^::'^  ^'T'ZZL  Many 
are  right  simply  because  %« V^^^^f^'.^.stifiable 

instances  of  heroic  ^^l^'^f  "fi*^!^^"^  when  t  is  right 
,,  every  one  were  to  P-  -m  Jhem^  J^- ^^^^^  -^ ,, 
for  a  man  to  devote  his  lite  to   a  g 


200 


ETHICS.   [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  III. 


15.] 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  KANT. 


201 


usually  right  just  because  it  may  be  assumed  that  no 
one  else  will  do  it.  Or  take  the  case  of  celibacy. ' 
For  every  one  to  abstain  from  marriage  would  be  in- 
consistent with  the  continuance  of  the  human  race 
on  earth  ;  consequently,  any  one  who  abstained  from 
marriage  ybr  the  sake  0/  some  benefit  to  posterity  would, 
from  Kant's  point  of  view,  be  acting  inconsistently  ; 
yet  it  seems  clear  that  it  is  not  the  duty  of  every  one 
to  marry,  and  even  that  it  is  the  duty  of  some  to 
abstain, — and  to  abstain,  too, /br  the  sake  of  posterity. 

It  appears,  then,  that  the  Kantian  principle,  inter- 
preted in  this  way,  is  much  too  stringent.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  we  were  to  accept  the  other  interpreta- 
tion, it  would  be  too  lax.  For  it  would  then  admit  of 
every  conceivable  exception  that  we  could  will  to  be 
universally  allowed  under  precisely  similar  conditions  ; 
and  this  would  include  everything  that  human  beings 
do,^  except  when  they  are  consciously  doing  what  they 
know  cannot  be  justified  by  any  rational  plea. 

§  15.  Real  Significance  of  the  Kantian  Principle. — 
We  must  not,  however  conclude  from  this  that  the 
Kantian  principle  is  to  be  entirely  rejected.  There  is 
a  sense  in  which  it  is  a  quite  complete  criterion  of  the 

1  C/  Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  IV.,  chap,  v.,  §  3  ;  and 
Abbott's  translation  of  Kant's  Theory  of  Ethics,  pp.  liii.,  sqq.  The 
student  should  observe  carefully  where  the  inconsistency  comes  in 
here— viz.  in  the  principle  (or  maxim)  itself,  not  in  its  mere  results. 

2  For  instance,  a  man  might  be  dishonest  in  business,  and  justify 
himself  by  saying  that  the  principle  on  which  he  acted  was,  that  a 
shrewd  man  is  entitled  to  overreach  a  careless  one.  If  he  had  per- 
fect confidence  in  his  own  shrewdness,  he  might  be  quite  willing 
that  this  principle  should  be  universally  carried  out ;  and  at  the 
same  time  he  might  uphold  the  general  principle  of  respect  for 
the  rights  of  others,  subject  only  to  this  particular  limitation. 


Hghtness  of  an  action  to  ask  whether  t  can  be  con-s 
entlv  carried  out.     Our  moral  action  is  m  this  respect 
exactly  similar  to  our  intellectual  life.     An  error  can- 
Tot  be  consistently  carried  out,  and  neither  can  a  sin 
But  i"  both  cases  alike  the  test  is  not  that  of  mere 
Zntal  consistency.     We  may  take  up  an   erroneous 
Idea  and  hold  consistently  to  it,  so  long  as  we  confine 
ourselves  to  that  particular  idea.     The  n.consistency 
cles  in  only  when  we  try  to  fit  the  erroneous  idea 
into  the  scheme  of  the  world  as  a  who  e.     It  is  with 
hat  scheme  that  error  is  inconsistent      In  like  manner 
„  our  moral  life  we  may  take  up  a  false  principle  of 
"ction,  and  we  may  carry  it  out  consistently,  and  even 
will  that  all  others  should  act  in  accordance  with  it, 
so  long  as  we  confine  our  attention  to  that  particular 
action  and  its  immediate  consequences.     But  so  soon 
as  we  go  beyond  this,  and  consider  its  bearing  on  the 
whole  scheme  of  life,'  it  becomes  apparent  that  ue 
could  not  will  that  it  should  be  universalised      The 
eason  is,  not  that  the  action  is  i--sistent  with  itself 
but  rather  that  it  is  inconsistent  with  ^he  self-u  e  u.  h 
the  unity  of  our  lives  as  a  systematic  whole.  ^     But 
then  we  have  at  once  to  ask-How  are  we  to  know 

have  to  be  consistent  is  rather  the  idea  of  progress.  But,  as 
TfslVu1^';rbs:;:d1htS-Uonieextentadvancedtowards 
the  Poinrlt  vLw  here  indicated;  especially  by  his  conception  of 
H^'a^:^  as  ™  absolute  end.  and  stil.  more  j^y/hej-g-t  ;dea 
of  all  rational  beings  as  constituting  f.^'««'!«»'/^^f  ^But  the  pe  - 
0,  Morals,  Sect.  11.  (Abbotfs  '^^"^'='''°";  1\P- 4^f,^„  .ecognisTng 
sistent  dualism  of  Kanfs  system  prevented  him  from  recognising 


i 


202 


£THICS.   [bK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  lit. 


what  is  and  what  is  not  consistent  with  this  unity? 
What  can  we,  and  what  can  we  not,  desire  to  see 
universally  carried  out  ?  This  question  cannot  be 
answered  by  any  mere  consideration  of  formal  con- 
sistency. We  must  inquire  into  the  nature  of  our 
desires — /.  e.  we  must  introduce  matter  as  well  ?is/orm. 
We  must  ask,  in  other  words,  w^hat  is  the  nature  of  the 
self  with  which  we  have  to  be  consistent. 

the  full  significance  of  the  advance  which  he  had  thus  suggested  ; 
and  his  principle  remained  formal  after  all.  C/.  Caird's  Critical 
Philosophy  of  Kant,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  218—226.  For  a  more  recent  criticism 
of  Kant's  ethical  position,  see  Simmel's  Eiulcitnng  in  die  Moral- 
wissenschaft,  Vol.  II.,  chap.  v. 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  KANT. 


203 


Note  on  Kant. 

•      •^i.fiv  characterised  by  Bradley  {Ethical  Studies, 
Kant's  view  IS  right^^  ^^f  ^  ^^ntv^^^^^ 
Essay  IV.)  as  that  of ''Duty  for  Du^^  ,3  ,,,,  of 

the  utilitarian  view  (Essay  11^  ^^^^^  .^  ^^^  ^^^^^r. 

♦'  Pleasure  for  Pleasures  ^ake       rroi  furnishing 

describes  the  Kantian  ^Vf  ^l.^^^ff'^^/as  S^  which 

us  with  merely  "Formal  E  hies  f "f^^J^^^^^f^  ^ut  in  the  will 
attempts  to  find  the  good  no  o^Y  -^^^^^^^  ^^  ^r.  Muirhead 
irrespective  of  any  end  to  be  reached  oy  j^^^^^^ 

^Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  112  ^'^^'^  ^^^^^,,^,^3^"^^^^^^^^^  to  Dewey  ; 
Lory  in  ^^^^^ '^^^.l^^^^^^  Ethics 

but  he  has  earned  ^^^^^^^  '  ^"J";^^'  ' _.  Doint  even  going  so  far 
and  utiUtarianism  ^^^ ^^Z:^f:,Z:  supreme  good  by  means 
as  to  characterise  tj^^  ^^"^'^^  J,f  ^__: . ^e  "  This  appears  to  me  to 
of  the  heading, ''  The  ^nd  as  S^^^^^^^^^^  ^  our  duty  out 

be  an  exaggeration.    Kant  considerea  i  anticipation 

of  pure  respect  f ^f ^  XJT^^  ^^^^ 

of  pleasure  ;  but  he  now  here,  so  i...  ^     ^^    contrary, 

there  is  any  merit  in  the  f  ^^"^l^  as  he  d  rect  end  at  which  the 
enough  he  does  not  rdh^^^^^ 

TrL^:^:  hUTn  iZ,  happiness  must  be  m.uded  as  we    as 
virtue-though  in  subordinat.on  to  v.rtue     I^^ee^g'^^J  ^^^  ,,.„ 

sidered  that,  unless  we  had  8^°""''^,  ™^^^,'^,7b|  found  united, 
elements-virtue  and  happme^s-are  ultimately  to  be  . 

the  very  foundation  of  morahty  would  be  destroyed     1  > 

..  In  the  s«mm»m  bomwt  which  .s  P^^^''?^'  °^  "Vnecessarily  com- 
by  our  will,  virtue  and  I'-PP;-- ^^^^.'^^^^^f  pu"    pr^^^^^^^^^^ 
bined,  so  that  the  one  f ""°' ^f J'!.""^" V ^ow  this  combination 

r^d ;:  r  S:^  t:  TZi:  ..emlnt  ot  the  position  of 

'fr  HhttCpinesst  noYrX  included  in  virtue,  or  virtue  in 
happiness. 


204 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  III. 


and  effect,  since  it  concerns  a  practical  good,  /.  c.  one  that  is  pos- 
sible by  means  of  action  ;  consequently  either  the  desire  of  happiness 
must  be  the  motive  to  maxims  of  virtue,i  or  the  maxim  of  virtue  must 
be  the  efficient  cause  of  happiness.    The  first  is  absolutely  impossible, 
because  (as  viras  proved  in  the  Analytic)  maxims  which  place  the 
determining  principle  of  the  will  in  the  desire  of  personal  happiness 
are  not  moral  at  all,  and  no  virtue  can  be  founded  on  them.    But  the 
second  is  also  impossible,  because  the  practical  connection  of  causes 
and  effects  in  the  world,  as  the  result  of  the  determination  of  the 
will,  does  not  depend  upon  the  moral  dispositions  of  the  will,  but 
on  the  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  physical  power  to 
use  them  for  one's  purposes  ;  consequently  we  cannot  expect  in  the 
world  by  the  most  punctilious  observance  of  the  moral  laws  any 
necessary  connection  of  happiness  with  virtue,  adequate  to  the 
summum  bonum.    Now  as  the  promotion  of  this  summum  bonum, 
the  conception  of  which  contains  this  connection,  is  a  priori  a  neces- 
sary object  of  our  will,  and  inseparably  attached  to  the  moral  law, 
the  impossibility  of  the  former  must  prove  the  falsity  of  the  latter.' 
If  then  the  supreme  good  is  not  possible  by  practical  rules,  then  the 
moral  law  also  which  commands  us  to  promote  it  is  directed  to  vain 
imaginary  ends,  and  must  consequently  be  false." 

Kant's  view,  then,  was  that  the  supreme  aim  of  the  virtuous  man 
is  simply  that  of  conforming  to  this  law  of  reason—/,  f.,  according  to 
him,  the  law  of  formal  consistency.  He  must  not  pursue  virtue /or 
the  sake  of  happiness,  but  purely  for  the  sake  of  duty.  In  this  sense 
Kant  inculcates  self-sacrifice.  But  he  does  not  regard  self-sacrifice 
as  the  end.  The  end  is  conformity  to  law,  obedience  to  reason. 
Further,  Kant  considers  that  though  the  virtuous  man  does  not  aim 
at  happiness,  yet  the  complete  well-beings  of  a  human  being  in- 
cludes happiness  as  well  as  virtue.  And  apparently  he  thought  that 
if  we  had  no  ground  for  believing  that  the  two  elements  are  ulti- 
mately conjoined,  the  ground  of  morality  itself  would  be  removed. 


1  This  is  what  Kant  denies  :  and  it  is  only  in  this  sense  that  he  is 
fairly  to  be  described  as  an  ascetic,  or  as  one  who  advocates  self- 
sacrifice. 

'^Complete  well-being  {bonnm  consummatmn)  as  distinguished  from 
supreme  well-being  {supremum  bonum).  The  supreme  good  is  vir- 
tue  :  the  complete  good  is  virtue  +  happiness.  See  Critique  of  Prac- 
tical  Reason,  Part  I.,  Book  II.,  chap.  ii.  (Abbott's  translation,  p.  206). 
For  a  discussion  of  Kant's  view  on  this  point,  see  Caird's  Critical 
Philosophy  of  Kant,  Book  II.,  chap.  v.  (vol.  ii.  pp.  289-314.) 


THE  DOCTRINE  OF  KANT. 


205 


For  morality  rests  on  a  demand  of  reason  ;  and  the  possibility  of 

nliZ/the  summum  bonum  is  also  a  demand  of  reason.    If  the 

attaimng  the  sumn  chimerical  in  the  latter  case,  they  would 

f  ""'"^llv  kcreTted  in  the  former.!  He  solves  the  difficulty  by 
TosXtlngt^^^^^^^^^^^^  of  God,  ys  the  necessary  condition  of  the 
nAs<!ibilitv  of  the  summum  bonum.  '  „  j  ..u 

■^  From  this  it  will  be  seen  that  Kant  did  not  really  regard  self- 
sacrifi^e  a  the  end.  Indeed  it  may  be  doubted  whether  .t  has  ever 
sacrmce  as  I  ^^^^^j  ^j  moralists.    Ben- 

been  regarded  as  ^"J^J^  ^^^^jgd  by  Dumont»),  contrasts  h.s 
umSrLttfeoS  w  h  What Tecalls  "the^Ascetic  Principle  ■'  saying 
otSerthat'^..  those  who  follow  it  have  a  horror  of  pleasures_ 
Evervth  ng  which  gratifies  the  senses,  in  their  view,  .s  odious  and 
criminal  They  foLd  morality  upon  privations  and  virtue  upon 
criminal,     ^'"^y  .,     j  ^d,  the  reverse  of  the 

L'attLTnToT^ttyTp^rr'eevery^  tendsto  diminish 

partisans  oi  ""'  J-  ^  everything  which  tends  to  augment  it. 
STsdLripLnruld  evidently  not  apply  to  Kant.^  nor  perhaps 
fo  an?  ctoT 'f  moralists,  if  we  except  some  of  the  extremest  of  the 
Cvnks*  Bentham  himself,  in  the  passage  from  which  the  above 
exCctis  taken,  does  not  refer  to  any  philosophic  writers  but  only 
to  the  irnsenlsts  and  some  other  theologians.  Even  the  Stoics  •  (to 
whom  certaMy  Kant  bears  a  strong  resemblance  ')  did  not  regard 

Ti^,erve  the  close  resemblance  between  Kanfs  view  on  this 
?,n7that  of  Butler     See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  tQS-?- 

solution,  in  like  manner,  is  characterised  by  immeasurably  greaie 

speculative  depth. 
2  Kant  loc  cit  section  V.  (Abbott,  p.  221).  , ,,      .       ^ 

.  MofLegislation,  chap.  ii.    See  ^Iso  Principles  ofMoralsand 

"-frLtrristTee'd.  a  passage  in  the  MetHodolo^  of  Pure  Practical 
ie  J'rdbbotfs  translation,  p.  .54).  i"  which  Kant  says  ^a  -tue 
is  "  worth  so  much  only  because  it  costs  so  much.  But  the  context 
shows  fhat  his  meaning  is  merely  that  the  cost  brings  clearly  to  nght 

the  purity  of  the  motive. 

6  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  p.  33-35- 

«  For  an  account  of  the  Stoics,  see  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp 

7  C/.  C?^hd'sCntical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  vol.  ii.  pp.  222-3.  &c. 


!06 


ETHICS.    [BK.  II.,  CH.  III.,  PT.  III. 


§!•] 


THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  207 


the  sacrifice  of  happiness  as  in  itself  a  good  On  the  contrary,  as 
Kant  himself  remarks.i  both  the  Stoics  and  Epicureans  were  agreed 
in  identifying  virtue  with  happiness  :  only  while  the  Epicureans 
held  that  the  pursuit  of  happiness  is  virtue,  the  Stoics  held,  contrari- 
wise, that  the  pursuit  of  virtue  is  happiness.2 

I  have  thought  it  desirable  to  dwell  on  this  slight  divergence  be- 
tween my  view  on  this  point  and  that  stated  in  Mr.  Muirhead's 
Elements,  not  for  the  purpose  of  emphasising  my  disagreement,  but 
rather  to  bring  out  the  fundamental  identity  of  our  views.  For  if  the 
reader  will  turn  to  the  passage  in  Mr.  Muirhead's  book,  I  think  he 
will  easily  see  that  the  difference  between  us  is  merely  superficial. 
Although  Mr.  Muirhead  treats  of  the  Kantian  Ethics  under  the  head- 
ing "  The  End  as  Self-Sacrifice,"  and  refers  to  it  as  illustrating  the 
ascetic  principle  in  morals,  yet  his  actual  treatment  of  Kant's  funda- 
mental position  does  not,  I  think,  materially  differ  from  that  suggested 
in  the  present  manual.  I  am  convinced,  therefore,  that  our  diver- 
gence on  this  point  is  little  more  than  verbal. 

It  is  perhaps  fair  to  add  here  that  a  partial  reply  to  Schiller's  ob- 
jections (referred  to  above,  §  13)  was  made  by  Kant  in  his  treatise 
on  Religion  within  the  Bounds  of  mere  Reason.^  Kant  there  admits 
that  a  thoroughly  virtuous  man  will  love  virtuous  activities,  and  per- 
form them  with  pleasure ;  but  he  regards  this  as  a  mere  result  of 
action  from  the  sense  of  duty.  The  man  who  acts  from  a  sense  of 
duty  has  a  feeling  of  pleasure  gradually  superinduced.  This  admis- 
sion obviates  the  grosser  forms  of  the  criticism  that  has  been  passed 
on  Kant  with  regard  to  this  point  ;  but  it  still  leaves  a  fatal  dualism 
between  the  law  of  reason  and  the  affections  of  human  kindness. 
In  short,  it  still  has  the  defect  of  emphasising  the  mere  isolated  good 
will  instead  of  the  good  character.  *    Cf.  above,  Book  I.,  chap,  iii.,  §  2. 


^Critique  of  Practical  Reason,  Part  I.,  Book  II.,  chap.  ii.  (Abbott's 
translation,  p.  208). 

2  Or  at  least  that  a  certain  form  of  happiness  is  an  inseparable 
accident  of  the  pursuit  of  virtue.  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics, 
pp.  83-4. 

«  Cf  also  Metaphysical  Elements  of  Ethics  (Abbott's  translation),  pp 
312-13. 

*  The  point  that  it  is  specially  important  to  remember  is,  that  Kant 
always  insists  that  duty  must  not  be  done  from  inclination.  He 
never  denies  that  it  may  be  done  with  inclination.  Consequently, 
he  is  not  properly  an  ascetic. 


J 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  STANDARD  AS  HAPPINESS. 
S  1     INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS. -We  thus   See    that   the 

:':r  at   h  ;  we  mu:t  act  in  a  way  that  is  consistent 
Th  the  iL  of  this  higher  self.     All  this  is  formal : 

X  ,„  saying  that  UU  merely  ^--^^^^::^:l:'^::Xl^ 

deny  us  practical  .mpof'^""^^  bv  s^anda  d    that  are  not  of  uni- 
to  judge  ourselves  and  othe  s  by  stana  ^  safeguard 

versal  application ;  and  Kants  f°™"'^  ''^f"o^Bryce's4m.ma« 
against  this.    Perhaps  the  folow.ng  passage    om^^^^  ^^.^  ^^^^^^ 

Co,n..n.eam  (,?'?-P-J';7-^,;";/; ^ndency  to  develop  a  special 
"AH  professions,  he  ^^^'   l^\  ^f  the  community  at  large, 

code  of  rules  less  ^'^'^'■"g.^f "  '„ff„  J.  „.,onB  because  contrary 

As  a  profession  holds  '^^^^^^^l.^^^^Z^to  it  justifies  other 
to  its  etiquette,  which  are  m  themselves  ^^,j  js 

things  in  themselves  blamable^n  the  '""c^    commissions,  and 
play  sad  tricks  on  their  principals  '"  w«"f"=;  j   ^f  j^.^  com- 

1.1  fellow-merchants  are  astonished  -^en  the  courts  o  ^^^^.^.^^_ 
pel  the  ill-gotten  gains  to  be  disgorged  _  At  the  Lng^ 
everybody  who  took  a  Master  of  Arts  degree  ^  England, 
req Jred  l  sign  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of  he  Church  ot^.  J  ^^^^ 
Hundreds  of  men  signed  who  ^'d  n°'.  7';^^^  ^% .  but  nobody  in 
they  did  not  believe,  the  dogmas  of  this  ""^  ^^j^,,^  .  .  . 
Oxford  thought  the  worse  of  them  for  « ^^'^^^i^^ed  rules  of 
Each  profession  indulges  in  deviations  from  the  esta 

morals,  but  takes  P-"V^T"bout  tseSr  tradit^        with  an 
public,  and  continues  to  ^'^  f  °"'  'tse^^^^^^^^    ^^^  ^^^  .^^^^  ^^^, 

air  of  unsullied  virtue.    What  each  pro  ^    jhem- 

individuals  do  for  themselves.    They  judge  tnem 


208 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH-  IV, 


we  now  wait  for  the  content  with  which  the  form  is  to 
be  filled.  We  have  to  ask,  in  short,  what  is  the  nature 
of  the  ideal  self,  and  how  it  is  constituted. 

§  2.  Higher  and  Lower  Universes. — That  certain 
forms  of  will  are  higher  or  better  than  others,  may 
almost  be  said  to  be  the  fundamental  assumption  of 
Ethics.  Now  it  follows  from  this  that  certain  desires, 
or  certain  universes  of  desire,  are  higher  or  better  than 
others.  Thus  it  becomes  a  problem  to  determine  why 
it  is  that  any  desire  or  universe  of  desires  should  be 
regarded  as  higher  or  better  than  any  other.  The 
significance  of  this  problem  may  perhaps  be  best  in- 
dicated by  suggesting  a  possible  answer.  It  is  obvious 
that  some  universes  are  more  comprehensive  than 
others.  If  a  man  acts  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
happiness  of  his  nation  as  a  whole,  this  is  evidently  a 
more  comprehensive  point  of  view  than  that  from 
which  he  acts  when  he  has  regard  only  to  his  own 
happiness.  The  former  includes  the  latter.  So  too,  if 
a  man  acts  from  the  point  of  view  of  his  own  happi- 
ness throughout  the  year,  he  acts  from  a  more  com- 
prehensive point  of  view  than  if  he  has  regard  only  to 
the  happiness  of  the  passing  hour.  Now  the  narrower 
the  point  of  view  from  which  we  act,  the  more  certain 
we  are  to  fall  into  inconsistency  and  self-contradiction. 

selves,  that  is  to  say,  by  their  surroundings  and  their  own  past 
acts,  and  thus  erect  in  the  inner  forum  of  conscience  a  more  lenient 
code  for  their  own  transgressions  than  that  which  they  apply  to 
others.  Wi  all  know  that  a  fault  which  a  man  has  often  committed 
seems  to  him  slighter  than  one  he  has  refrained  from  and  seen 
others  committing.  Often  he  gets  others  to  take  the  same  view. 
'  It  is  only  his  way,'  they  say  :  '  it  is  just  like  Roger.'  The  same 
thing  happens  with  nations."  There  is  perhaps  some  cynicism  in 
this  ;  but  it  contains  sufficient  truth  to  illustrate  the  present  point 


;t 


^  3.]  THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  209 

if  the  universe  within  which  we  act  is  merely  that  of  the 
passhrhour,  that  universe  will  no  longer  be  the  dom- 
Lnt  one  wken  the  hour  is  past ;  and  then  we  shall 
find  ourselves  acting  from  some  diff-nt^^and  p^ap 
h  consistent  point  of  view.     If,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
rive    e  within  which  we  act  is  broad  and  compre- 
ZnZe    we  may  be  able  to  maintain  our  po:nt  of 
veTclsistently  through  life   and  also  to  apPly  :     o 
the  actions  of  others.     The  wider  universe  may,  there 
fore  be  regarded  as  higher  or  better  than  the  narrower 
one   since  it  enables  us  to  maintain  a  more  cons.s  ent 
"L  o   view  in  our  actions.     From  this  consideration     I 
r  may  partly  see  why  it  is  that  one  ^^^J^^^^^^^ 
regarded  as  higher  or  better  than  another.     Still,  this 
does  not  make  ft  quite  clear.    For  sometimes  when  we 
$re7er  one  universe  to  another,  the  former  does  not 
fnclude  the  latter,  and  is  not  obviously  wider  than  1. 
What  is  the  ground  of  preference  in  -ch  cases  we  shal 
consider  at  a  later  point  in  this  inquiry      But  in  the 
meantime  it  may  be  well  to  notice  a  plausible  expla- 
Son  o?'the  preference,  whic^  we  shall  see  reason 
afterwards  to  reject.     In   such  a  subject  as  Ethics 
erroneous  doctrines  are  often  almost  as  instructive  as 

those  that  are  correct.  .  . 

§  3.  LisKACxioK  or  DESiKES.-When  a  desire  attains 
the  end  to  which  it  is  directed,  the  desire  is  satisfied 
and  this  satisfaction  is  attended  by  an  agreeable  feel- 
tug  --a  feeling  of  pleasure,  enjoyment,  or  happiness. 

,  I  f  n„^  nr    Tames  Ward  and  others  in  nsing  the  term  "  Feeling  " 
.  I  follow  Dr   Jan^s  Warn  ambiguous  term,  and 

for  pleasure  and  pam.     It  is,  Kowever,  y  .j-i,  ^ener  in  his 

perhaps  the  term  "  Affeetion,"  wh.ch  .s  used  b>  ^^^'^ J^  ^^e 
OulUne  4  Psychology,  is  in  some  ways  preferable.     See  Stout     M 
of  Psychology,  Book  II.,  chap.  vm.  ^^ 

Eth. 


^10  ETHICS.  [bK,  II.,  CH.  IV. 

On   the  other  hand,  when   the  end  of  a  desire  is  not 
attained,  we  have  a  disagreeable  feeling— a  feeling  of 
pain,  misery,  or  unhappiness.    Now  if  we  act  within  a 
wide  universe,  or  within  a  universe  that  includes  de- 
sires that  are  continually  recurring  throughout  life,  we 
shall  be  acting  in  such  a  way  as  to  satisfy  our  desires 
with  great  frequency,  and  so  to  have  many  feelings  of 
pleasure.     On  the  other  hand,  if  we  act  within  a  nar- 
row universe,  or  one  containing  desires  that   do  not 
often  recur,  we  may  have  few  satisfactions  and  a  fre- 
quent occurrence  of  painful  feelings.     Now  it  seems 
plausible  to  say  that,  since  what  we  aim  at  is  the  satis- 
faction of  our  desires,  the  best  aim  is  that  which  will 
bring  the  greatest  number  of  pleasures  and  the  smallest 
number  of  pains.     This  consideration  would  supply  us 
with  a  criterion  of  higher  and  lower  universes.     The 
highest  universe  within  which  we  could  act  would  be 
that  which  would  supply  us  with  the  greatest  number 
j    of  pleasures  and  the  smallest  number  of  pains.     The 
highest  universe,  in  fact,  would  be  that  which  is  con- 
stituted by  the  consideration  of  our  greatest  happiness 
throughout  life ;  or,  if  we  consider  others  as  well   as 
ourselves,  by  the  consideration  of  the  greatest  happi- 
ness of  the  greatest  number.     This  leads  us  to  the  con- 
sideration of  Hedonism. 

§4.  Varieties  OF  Hedonism.  — Hedonism  is  the  general 
term  for  those  theories  that  regard  happiness  or  pleas- 
ure as  the  supreme  end  of  life.  It  is  derived  from  the 
Greek  word  i^U.rj,  meaning  pleasure.  These  theories 
have  taken  many  different  forms.  It  has  been  held 
by  some  that  men  always  do  seek  pleasure,  ;'.  e.  that 
pleasure  in  some  form  is  always  the  ultimate  object  of 
desire;  whereas   other  Hedonists  confine  themselves 


THE  STANDARD  AS  HAPPINESS. 


211 


,' 


§  3] 

,„  t.e  view  t.at  .en  .«..;  always  to  seeU  pleasu.. 

^He  fonner  ^^jJ^^Z^S^^  simply  affirms  the 
Psychologtcal  ^'^'^'""'"*'  '^  „^^holo?ical  fact ;  whereas 
seeking  of  pleasure  as  ^  P^y*^/^,;,,,,/  Hedonism. 
l,e  describes  the  other  theory  a  ^^^^^^  ^^ 

,,.U.  --^^-\itwnpe:sJ:e     while  others  hold 
ought  to  seek  is  his  ow    P  .^  ^^^  ^^^^^^,^ 

that  what  each  seeks,  or  ou^ht  ^^_^^.^^^^  ^^^^^^^^^ 

of  all  human  bemgs,  or  even  ^^  ^^^^^  ^.^^.^ 

Prof.  Sidgwick  has  called  t  .^^^^^^.^^.^  Hedonisv,^ 

Egoistic  Hedomsm;  ^^^^  ^^'^^  ^^  utiUtarianism-v^V^zV, 
The  latter  has  also  been  caliea  _  ^^  ^^^ 

however,  i.  a  very  '^--^^^^^''^'^^^^Z  psychological 
earlier  ethical  Hedon.sU  ^^\^^Jl,,.  almost 
Hedonists  ;  but  this  letter  jj^^o^j.^m  has  also 

universally  abandoned.  J^S^^J^'^^  ^  j^^lders  were 
been  generally  abandoned^  "  *  ^^^  f  Some  more 
the  ancient  Cyrena.cs  and  Ep'^^^fp^^^j,,^  ^nd  Mill 
modern  writers,  however,-such  ^  ^^^ 

_did   not   clearly   d-t-gv-^  J'^J^^^^^^^^ 
universalistic  Hedon.sm,  and  con  e  I         y  ^^^^^^  ^^ 

the  main  supportnig  ""'y/^fj^'^^,.     The  student 
be  giving  tHeir  adhesion  to  the^fj^^  ^^^^^ 

ri;l^VS:folL'    Serwise  great  confusion  wUl 

1  See  below,  §  9-  c;,i <twick's  HisioY))  of  Ethics,  pp.  32-3. 

.  For  an  account  of  these  sees  d|wcks«        y^^  ^^^^^^.^ 

and  pp.  82^-    See  also  f ";"  f^p^^,.  Wallace's  little  volume 
»nd  Stoics.  Epicureans  and  «  f '  "^p^ifj"   ^ies ")  is  a  most  del.gh  - 

is  nearly  always  reliable. 


212 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 


result.  Now  the  doctrine  of  Psychological  Hedonism 
has  already  been  considered  in  Book  I.  It  is  simply 
a  statement  of  fact  ;  whereas  Ethical  Hedonism  is  a 
theory  of  Value,  a  theory  of  the  ground  upon  which 
one  form  of  action  ought  to  be  preferred  to  others. 

§  5.  Ethical  Hedonism. — We  have  seen  that  the  theory 
of  psychological  Hedonism  is  unsound.  Ethical  He- 
donism, however,  does  not  stand  or  fall  with  this. 
On  the  contrary,  as  Dr.  Sidgwick  has  pointed  out,* 
ethical  Hedonism  is  scarcely  compatible  with  psycho- 
logical Hedonism,  at  least  in  its  most  extreme  form. 
If  we  always  did  seek  our  own  greatest  pleasure,  there 
would  be  no  point  in  saying  that  we  ought  to  seek  it ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  absurd  to  say 
that  we  ought  to  seek  the  pleasure  of  others,  except  in 
so  far  as  this  could  be  shown  to  coincide  with  our  own. 
Of  course,  if  psychological  Hedonism  be  merely  inter- 
preted as  meaning  that  we  always  do  seek  pleasure  oj 
some  sort,  then  ethical  Hedonism  may  be  understood 
as  teaching  that  we  ought  to  seek  the  greatest  pleasure, 
whether  our  own  or  that  of  others.  But,  in  any  case, 
there  is  no  necessary  connection  between  the  two 
doctrines.^    The  confusion  that  has  often  been  made 

1  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chap,  iv.,  §  i. 

'^  It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  I  do  not  agree  with  Mr.  Muirhead 
{Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  114)  in  regarding  the  psychological  form  of 
Hedonism  as  "  also  its  logical  form."  At  the  same  time,  it  should  be 
observed  that  systems  of  ethical  Hedonism  (especially  when  egoistic) 
have  nearly  always  been  made  to  rest  on  psychological  Hedonism. 
Nor  is  this  necessarily  inconsistent ;  for  most  Hedonists  (especially 
egoistic  Hedonists)  have  denied  any  absolute  "ought"  as  having 
authority  over  men's  natural  inclinations.  They  have  regarded 
Ethics  as  simply  laying  down  rules  for  the  guidance  of  our  actions, 
so  as  to  secure  the  greatest  possible  gratification  to  our  natural  im- 
pulses. They  have  thought  that  by  the  introduction  of  adequate  "sane- 


§5]  THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  213 

an  ambiguity  m  trie  woiu  "The 

also  may  be  illustrated  by  a  passage  from  Mill.  Ihe 
only  Foof,"  he  says,  "capable  of  being  g-en  that  an 
u-  *  ic  visible  is  that  people  actually  see  it.  The 
S  proof  that  a  sound  is  au'dible.  is  that  people  hear 
only  proof      ^^^  ^^^^^^^^^  ^  apprehend,  the  sole  evi- 

dence  it  is  possible  to  P-duce  that  anything  is  desi. 
able  is  that  people  do  actually  desire  it.  It  is  here 
as  umed  that  the  meaning  of  the  word  "desirable  is 
assume  *^ visible"  and  ''audible.       i3ut 

r^.'°r"  I'ea^s     'ableTbe  seen.--  and  "audible" 
"  "t   •  abTe  "be  heard"  ;  whereas  "  desirable"  does 
T     .itv  mean  ' '  able  to  be  desired."     When  we  say 

Ih  t'any  hi,?g  i^  desirable,  we  do  not  usually  mean 
that  anyth  ng  ^^^^^  .^  ^^^^^^j^ 

"'t'  I  that  is  '  ot   =.ble  to  be  desired.     What  we 
anything  that    s  not  ^    ^^  ^^  ^^^,,^^_  ,,  that 

T"^'!  o  be  desired  When  the  Hedonist  says  that 
pwS:^  St  eTi;  thing  that  is  desirable,  he  means 
E  It  is  the  only  thing  that  ougM  to  be  desired.  But 
tie  form  of  the  word  "desirable"  seems  to  have  mis- 
led several  writers  into  the  notion  that  they  ought  to 

tions"  (see  below,  Note  to  Boo.  HI   chaj.  vj,  the  greatest  p^^^^^^^^^ 

of  the  community  »^  ^^^"'^ '"if' "^Vparticularly  explicit 
individual's  greatest  P'-^-^*; ^^^."Sy  a«^^^^^^  word ''ought ' 
on  this  point,  fVmg  even   paradox  can^        ^^^^^^^  ^^  ^^g.^,^_ 

"ought  to  be  abolished  <B"^f;^^  »^/,„„4,  incompatible  with 
tion.  chap.  i..  §  10.)    But  'h's  view  is  Hedonists)  that  the 

the  admission  (now  generally  made  ^Y  »'>  ^j^ 

gratification  of  our  own  i-.«-''°"^  ":f  ^^^^^"^f  ^Ty^ical.    Cf. 
is  allowed,  ethical   Hedonism  cannot  rest  on  ^cn 
riVvZTntrodudwn  to  the  Study  of  Etiucs.  pp.  70-7«.... 
TcTsidgwick-s  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  HI.,  chap.  xni..  §  5 


214 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 


show  also  that  pleasure  is  the  only  thing  that  is  capable 
of  being  desired.^  The  latter  view  is  that  of  psycho- 
logical Hedonism,  which  seems  clearly  to  be  unsound. 
The  former  is  that  of  ethical  Hedonism,  which  we  have 
still  to  examine. 

We  have  already  stated  that  there  are  two  forms  of 
ethical  Hedonism — egoistic  and  ufiiversalisiic.  But  be- 
fore we  proceed  to  consider  these,  it  will  be  well  to 
indicate  more  precisely  what  the  general  meaning  of 
ethical  Hedonism  is. 

§  6.  Quantity  of  Pleasure. — Hedonism  is  not  merely 
the  vague  theory  that  we  ought  to  seek  pleasure.  It 
states  definitely  that  we  ought  to  seek  the  greatest 
pleasure.  Otherwise  of  course  it  would  give  us  no 
criterion  of  right  and  wrong  in  conduct.  Pleasure 
may  be  found  by  acting  in  the  most  contradictory 
ways.  But  when  we  are  told  to  seek  the  greatest  plea- 
sure, there  can  usually  be  but  one  course  to  follow.  In 
estimating  the  quantity  of  pleasure,  it  is  usually  said 
that  there  are  two  points  to  be  taken  into  account — 
intensity  and  duration.'^  Some  pleasures  are  preferable 
to  others  because  they  last  longer.     Pains  require  also 

1  The  fallacy  here  involved  is  that  known  to  writers  on  Logic  as 
the  "  Fallacy  of  P^igure  of  Speech  "  (figiinv  dictiouis).  See  Whately's 
Logic,  pp.  1 17-18,  Davis's  Theory  of  Thought,  p.  270,  Welton's  Manual 
of  Logic,  vol.  II.,  p.  243.  Jevons  {Elementary  Lessons  on  Logic,  p.  175) 
seems  to  have  quite  misunderstood  this  fallacy,  as  well  as  many 
others. 

2  In  estimating  the  value  of  pleasures,  there  are,  according  to  Ben- 
tham,  some  other  qualities  also  which  should  be  taken  into  account 
— viz.  certainty,  propinquity,  fecundity  (power  of  producing  other 
pleasures),  and  purity  (freedom  from  pain).  He  considered  also 
that  we  should  take  account  of  their  extent — /.  e.  the  number  of  per- 
sons who  participate  in  them.  See  his  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legis- 
lation.   He  summed  up  his  view  in  the  following  doggerel  verses — 


THE    STANDARD    AS   HAPPINESS. 


215 


l''e  U.e.  -o  -ecu..     P^n.  .  ^^^^^^^^ 

of  pleasure,   and  ^^ ^^'^^^^IZ  „,athematics.     If  a 
negative  quantities  are  treated  ^^^^j  ;„ 

pleasure  is  repres-ted  by  +       the^^^  ^^  P_^  ^^  ^.^  ^^ 

will  be  represented  by  a,  ^  .^^,„„s  or  the  small- 
is  to  secure  the  ^^^'^^:^:: ^IST:^:^^  positive 
est  sum  of  pan^s,  f^''''^^^^^\^^  ^hree  pleasures, 
and  pains  as  negat.v        If  there   ar  ^^  ^^^^^^^^ 

r'terr^rTt  +  s  Jo  bfpreferred  to  5.  3  +  S.to 
to  e.ther  3  °r  4,  3  +  +  .^  ^^^  ^ave  pams 

'  t  '\  Z  \  I  -  5  ;  -  ■  -  to  be  preferred  to  -  4,  and 
valued  a   -  3^-4      5  .      3  ^^  ^^        .^^^^^  ^^  ^  _  3    ,,d 

-  '  1°'  [-  s^^^Se  between  4  -  3  and  5  -  4.  or  between 
T-  3  11  4  -4   there  is  no  ground  of  preference.     And 

--4;.:  ^Sefs  t^^  trmrsxrt  :-=. 

reans.      Ihe    wnierb  u  nursu  t  of  the 

confined  themselves  to  '"-  -^-^^J^^^J-t  they  did 
pleasure  of  each  moment  as  .t  passes  J    .^, 

not  take   account  «f /"^^*'""    Jl^^.X  happiness 
culcated  rather  the  endeavour  to  secure  the       PP 

"I., tense,  long,  certain,  speedy  ("''jf^;^^, 
Such  marks  in  Measures  and  in  fams  enaure. 
Teh  pleasures  seek,  if  tn.aie  be  thy  end  ; 
If  it  be  tublic,  wide  let  them  extend. 
11^ tains  a^oid,  whichever  be  thy  view  ; 
If  pains  must  come,  let  them  extend  to  few. 

^  .  •  ^.r^T  ind  Dewey's  Outlines  of 

Cf.  Sidgwick's  HLsfaryo/£f/ncs,pp.24C^i.and  Uewey 

Ethics,  pp.  36-7- 


2l6 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 


of  life  as  a  whole.  In  modern  times,  owing  to  the 
spirit  of  self-sacrifice  introduced  by  Christianity,  this 
doctrine  has  seldom  been  avowed  in  any  form.  Hobbes  * 
and  Gassendi  are  the  chief  modern  writers  who 
decidedly  adopt  this  view  ;  and  it  is  by  them  made  to 
rest  on  psychological  Hedonism.  It  appears  also  in  a 
manner  in  Spinoza  ;  ^  but  he  subordinates  it  to  a  cer- 
tain metaphysical  theory,  which  wc  cannot  here  con- 
sider. 

Egoistic  Hedonism  has  always  presented  a  repulsive 
appearance  to  the  moral  consciousness.  Yet  it  is  pos- 
sible to  give  it  a  plausible  appearance,  and  even  at  the 
present  time  it  is  recognised  by  Dr.  Sidgwick  as  an 
inevitable  element  in  a  complete  system  of  Ethics. 
The  reason  why  this  should  seem  to  be  so  is  evident 
enough.  It  is  clear  that  the  end  at  which  we  are  to 
aim  must  be  some  end  that  will  give  us  satisfaction. 
When  asked  why  we  pursue  any  end,  the  only  reason- 
able answer  that  can  be  given,  is  that  it  satisfies  some 

1  For  an  account  of  Hobbes,  see  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp. 
163-170.  It  should  be  observed,  however  (what  perhaps  Dr.  Sidg- 
wick does  not  sufficiently  bring  out),  that  the  Egoism  of  Hobbes  is 
much  more  pronounced  than  his  Hedonism.  It  is  even  open  to 
question  whether  he  is  strictly  to  be  regarded  as  a  Hedonist  at  all, 
though  on  the  whole  the  answer  seems  to  be  in  the  affirmative.  Cf. 
Croom  Robertson's  Hobbes,  p.  136.  Helvetius  and  Mandeville  may 
perhaps  also  be  classed  as  Egoistic  Hedonists.  See  Lecky's  History 
of  European  Morals,  p.  6  sqq.  But  Mandeville  can  hardly  be  taken 
seriously.  It  should  be  added  that  scarcely  any  of  these  writers  can 
be  regarded  as  purely  (or  at  least  consistently)  egoistic.  Even 
Hobbes  is  led  in  the  end  to  recognise  a  law  of  Reason  (though  of  a 
very  derivative  character)  bidding  us  have  regard  to  the  general 
good.     See  Croom  Robertson's  Hobbes,  p.  142. 

2  See  Principal  Caird's  Spinoza,  chaps,  xii.  and  xiii.  Spinoza's 
highest  end  was  rather  blessedness  than  pleasure.  See  below,  §  9, 
(c),  and  Chap.  V.,  §  14. 


'*] 


8  7.]  THE   STANDARD    AS   HAPPINESS.  21/ 

demand  Of  our  nature  ;  and  the.onl^.  finally  J^^^^^^^^^^ 
tory  answer  that  can  be  given,  is  that  it  ^atofies  the 
most  fundamental  demand  of  our  nature.  For  if  we 
Tv  hat  we  pursue  the  end  for  some  external  reason- 
as  cTbecLe  we  are  commanded  by  some  supe- 
L  aShority-there  still  remains  the  quest-n  why  we 
are  to  be  influenced  by  that  external  reason  The  only 
answer  that  leaves  no  further  question  behind  it,  is  the 
answer  inai  .  to  an   ultimate  demand  of 

answer  that  has  reference  lo  ^ 

our  nature.  Now,  when  we  are  ^^'^^'^J^Jf  .f  j  %*^^y 
satisfies  the  ultimate  demands  of  our  nature,  it  is  very 
natural  to  answer  "  Pleasure.  ' 

On  consideration,  however,   it  appears  that,    n  g  v 
;„;  this  -inswer   we  are  misled  by  the  same  ambiguity 
s'ti^v  h  ch  we  encountered  in  dealing  with  psycho 
loJica    Hedonism.     It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  wha  - 
ever  satisfies  the  ultimate  demands  ofo-"f-  ^f 
bdng  pleasure  with  it,  and  may   consequently  be  de- 
s     bed  as  a  pleasure.     But  this  pleasure   mus    have 
some  objective  content,  and  that  content  is  not  itself 
XLre      The  object  that  gives  us  pleasure  may  be 
Se  pleasure  of  some  one  else,  or  it  may  be  the  welfare 
of  ou    country,  or  it  may  be  the  fulfilment  of  what  we 
conceive  to  be  our  duty.     These  things  aje  /./e.s«r.5- 
•T  they  are  objects  the  attainment  of  which  willbnng 
;s  p  eaJure.     sJit  they  are  not  themselves  ^/e..«..- 
,■  /agreeable  feeling.     Here,  again,   therefore   to  say 
that  w'e  ought  to  seek  M--«,  is  not  to  say  that  we 

ou«-ht  to  seek  pleasure.  . 

Dr.  Sidgwick,  however,  thinks-  that  "' when  we  s 
down  in  a  cool  hour'  (as  he  says,  quoting  Butler),  ^^e 

1  iletkods  of  Ethics,  Book  III.,  chap.  xiv.  §  5. 


2l8 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CII.  IV. 


perceive  that  there  is  nothing  which  it  is  reasonable  to 
seek — /.  e.  nothing  which  is  desirable  in  itself — except 
pleasure.  He  then  argues  that  since  pleasure  is  the 
one  desirable  thing,  the  greatest  pleasure  must  be  the 
most  desirable.  A  more  intense  pleasure  is  conse- 
quently to  be  preferred  to  a  less  intense,  and  a  pleasure 
which  lasts  longer  to  one  that  is  of  shorter  duration. 
Further,  he  urges  that,  in  estimating  our  pleasures,  a 
past  or  future  pleasure  ought,  cceteris  paribus,  to  be 
regarded  as  of  equal  value  with  a  present  one.  For 
mere  difference  of  time  '  can  of  itself  make  no  dif- 
ference to  the  value  of  our  pleasures.^  All  this  is 
evidently  true,  on  the  assumption  that  pleasure  is  the 
one  desirable  thing.  But  there  seems  to  be  no  warrant 
for  this  assumption.  3 

§  8.  Universalistic  Hedonism. — Universalistic  He- 
donism or  Utilitarianism  is  the  theory  that  what  we 
ought  to  aim  at  is  the  greatest  possible  amount  of 
pleasure  of  all  human  beings,  or  of  all  sentient  crea- 
tures. The  chief  exponents  of  this  theory  are  Bentham, 
J.  S.  Mill,  and  Professor  Sidgwick.  Bentham  s  proof 
of  the  theory  is  not  very  explicit,-*  and  may  perhaps 
be  considered  to  be  sufficiently  represented  by  that 
of  Mill.  Mill's  argument  is  stated  thus  in  the  fourth 
chapter  of  his  Utilitarianism  :  '  *  No  reason  can  be  given 
why  the  general  happiness  is  desirable,  except  that 
each  person,  so  far  as  he  believes  it  to  be  attainable, 


1  Apart  from  the  uncerhunty  which  is  generally  connected  with 
the  lapse  of  time.  Allowance  would,  of  course,  have  to  be  made 
for  this, 

2  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  III.,  chap,  xiii.,  §  3. 

3  Cf.  §  5,  and  see  below,  §  lo. 

"*  Cf.  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  241-245 


'2^ 


I  8.]  THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  219 

lesires  his  own  happiness.     This,    however   being  a 
fac     we  have  not  only  all  the  proof  which    he  case 

Hmits  Of  but  all  which  it  is  possible  to  require,  that 
ha^,^  nest  is  I  good:  that  each  person's  happiness  is  a 
3  o  thlt  pe'rson.  and  the  general  haPP'f-^f -; 
fore   a  good  to  the  aggregate  of  all  persons        He  the 
go  ;  oirto  argue  that  happiness  is  the  o"ly  good   on 

,  \  +v.ni  vvp  have  already  noticed— z^/-  tnai  ic. 

deX:  thingand  to  find  it  pleaLnt  are  but  two  ways 
desire  a  tnii  g  .^  ^^^^j^  ^^  ditfi- 

°llUrcX  t  ta  sCt  spac^  so  many  fallacies  as  are 
cult  to  collect  in  v  ^^.^^^  ^^^  ^^,^fy. 

here  -mm.Ued.     We  have  a^^^  ^y  ^^  .  ^  ^^^^ 

sion  m  the   ast  pomt  ^^^  confusion  with 

"  pleasure        We  have  ""^^^  ^    ,.  ,,,hich  vitiates 

regard  to  the  meaning  of      ^esirable^ 
the  first  part  of  the   argument.     It  only   rema 
Lotice  the'  fallacy  involved  in  the  -^-"-^^f^i.  ^t 

his  to  him,  and  so  on,  therefore  "^J /  ^^^7^+/,  + 

ff^"u^s^.i:orttan:;he^^^^^ 

pcTson    are  capable  of  being  made  into  an  aggregate^ 
is,  -  the  aggregate  of  all  persons    is  nobody, 


220 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 


sequently  nothing  ciin  be  a  good  to  him.     A  good  must 
be  a  good  for  somebody. ' 

Dr.  Sidgwick's  proof  is  of  a  more  satisfactory  char- 
acter. He  considers  universalistic  Hedonism  to  be 
established  in  the  very  same  way  as  Egoistic  Hedonism 
is  established.  2  He  thinks  that  he  has  shown  that 
pleasure  is  the  only  thing  that  is  in  itself  desirable. 
This  being  the  case,  pleasure  is  always  to  be  chosen. 
And  in  the  choice  of  pleasure,  reason  bids  us  be  im- 
partial. The  greatest  attainable  pleasure  is  always  to 
be  selected.  In  choosing  our  own  pleasures,  the  future 
is  to  be  regarded  as  of  equal  weight  with  the  present. 
In  like  manner,  also,  the  pleasures  of  others  are  to  be 
regarded  as  of  equal  weight  with  our  own.  It  might 
be  thought  that  in  this  way  Dr.  Sidgwick  had  over- 
thrown egoistic  Hedonism,  and  shown  universalistic 
Hedonism  to  be  the  only  reasonable  Hedonistic  system. 
But,  for  some  reason  which  it  is  not  easy  to  discover, 
he  does  not  consider  this  to  be  the  case.  So  far  as 
can  be  made  out,  the  reason  seems  to  be  that  wha-t  is 
primarily  our  good  is  our  own  pleasure  ;  and  it  is  only 
in  a  secondary  way  that  we  discover  that  the  pleasure 
of  others  ought  to  be  equally  regarded.  Now  this 
secondary  discovery  cannot  overthrow  the  first  primary 
truth.  Hence  we  are  bound  still  to  regard  our  own 
pleasure  as  a  supreme  good.  For  this  reason  Dr.  Sidg- 
wick considers  that  there  is  a  certain  contradiction  or 
dualism  in  the  final  recommendations  of  reason.  We 
are  bound  to  seek  our  own  greatest  pleasure,  and  yet 
we  are  bound  also  to  seek  the  greatest  pleasure  of  the 
aggregate  of  sentient   beings.      Now   these  two  ends 

1  Cf.  Bradley's  Ethical  Studies,  p.  103. 

2  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  III.,  chap.  xiiL,§  3. 


THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS. 


22T 


§8.] 

may  not,  and  probably  will  not,  coincide.     There   is 
thus  a  conflict  between    two  different    commands    of 
reason      This  conflict  is  referred  to  by  Dr.    Sidgwick 
as  -  the  Dualism  of  Practical  Reason.''  ^     But  if  there 
is  any  force  in  this  consideration,  it  seems  as  it  we 
„.i.ht  carry  it  further,  and  say  that  there  is  a  similar 
conflict  between  the  pursuit  of  our  own  greatest  plea- 
sure at  a  given  moment  and  the  pursuit  of  the  greatest 
happiness'of  life  as  a  whole.     For  it  is  the  pleasure  of 
a  given  moment  that  appears  to  be  primarily  desirable 
At  any  given  moment  what  seems   desirable   is  the 
satisfaction  of  our  present  wants.     Consequently   on 
the  same  principle  we  might  say  that  we  are  bound  to 
seek  the  greatest  pleasure  of  a  given   momeivt  nol 
than  the  greatest  pleasure  of  our  whole    life      There 
would  thu^s  be  three  kinds  of  Hedonisn.  instead  of  tvvo 
-the  Cyrenaic  view  being  recognised  as  well  as  the 
Epicurean    and  the  Benthamite.     However,  it  is  per- 
haps scarcely  worth  while  to  consider  which  form  of 
Hedonism  is  the  most  reasonable,  as  they  seem  all  to 
be  based  on  a  misconception.  ^ 

Two  points  may  be  noted  with  regard  to  un.vers^- 
istic  Hedonism.  In  the  first  place,  it  used  to  be  de- 
scribed as  Utilitarianism,  because  it  was  supposed  to 
inculcate  the  pursuit  of  what  is  "seiui. 
seen  that  pleasure  is  not  more  useful  than  any  othe. 
possible  end  ;  and  the  name  has  consequentVy  bee„ 
dropped  in  scientific  writings-though,  for  shortness, 
i  For  Dr  Sidgwick's  view  on  this  point,  see  his  Methods  of  Ethics, 
conc,:ding  raster.    Prof.  <^^^f':^^:^,^J-^^;^ 

Sslr^^is^^o^t^o^--^^^^^^ 

International  Journal  of  Ethics  for  October,  1890. 


^^-  ETHICS.  [RK.  IT.,  CII.  IV. 

the  term  is  still  often  used  as  a  designation  of  the  school 
In  the  second  place,  the  end  of  universalistic  Hedonism 
used  to  be  described  as  being  the  attainment  of  -the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number."     The  mean- 
ing of  this  was/  that  if  we  had  to  choose  between  a 
great  happiness  of  a  small  number  and  a  smaller  hap- 
pmess  of  a  great  number,  we  ought  to  prefer  the  latter 
even  if  the  total  happiness  were  less.     But   it  is  novv 
recognised  that  if  pleasure  is  to  be  regarded  as  the 
good,  we  are  bound  to  choose  the  greatest  pleasure 
even  If  It  should  be  concentrated  in  a  single  person' 
instead   of  being   distributed    over   a    large  numben 
Accordmgly,  this  phrase  has  also  been  abandoned.- 

§  9.  General  Criticism  of  Hedonism.  (./)  Pleasure 
and  lahie.-W^  see  now  the  general  foundation  on 
which  the  Hedonistic  theory  of  Ethics  rests.  It  may 
be  based  either  on  a  psychological  theory  of  the  object 
of  desire  or  on  a  theory  of  value.  The  former  basis 
has  been  perhaps  sufficiently  discussed  ;  but  on  the 
latter  some  remarks  must  still  be  added. 

The  general  point  of  view  is  that,  though  our  desires 
may  often  be  directed  to  other  objects  than  pleasure 
yet,   when   we  set  ourselves    calmly  to  consider  the 
matter,  we  see  that  pleasure  is  that  which  alone  con- 
stitutes the  value  for  us  of  the  objects  of  our  experi- 

\ll^hVnlT  ''  n""^  '"^,  '^'^"^*"  "'"^"^'"S-  ^h^  phrase  seems  to 
attlched^o  rTh  '  '"'^^''''^  '"^^'""^  ^">'  definite  meaning  being 
FhI  Z  \.V!^"^  ''  ^"  interesting  discussion  of  this  point  in 
Edgeworth  s  Mathematical  Psychics,  p.  117  sqq 

2  It  should  be  observed  that  Bentham  himself  seems  in  his  later 
years,  to  have  discarded  the  expression  ''of  the  greatest  number ' 
H,s  reasons  for  doing  so  (which  are  not  very  clearS^^^^ 
be^ound  in  Burton's  Introauct.n  to  Benthl's  ^F^lr^'rH^ndT 


9-] 


THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS. 


223 


ence.  A  psychosis  (to  use  Prof.  Huxley's  term,* 
adopted  by  recent  psychologists),  /.  e.  a  state  of  con- 
sciousness, is  valuable  for  us  exactly  in  proportion  as 
it  is  pleasant.  Consequently,  though  the  impulse  of 
desire  may  sometimes  move  towards  the  less  pleasant 
of  two  possible  objects  ;  and  though,  therefore,  we 
cannot  say  that  our  desires  are  always  moved  simply 
by  the  calculation  of  pleasure  ;  yet,  when  we  reflect 
calmly,  and  from  a  purely  egoistic  point  of  view,  we 
see  that  the  only  reasonable  ground  of  preference  be- 
tween two  psychoses  is  that  the  one  is  more  pleasurable 
than  the  other.  Hence,  though  it  is  not  true  that  we 
always  act  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure  for  ourselves  the 
pleasantest  of  possible  psychoses,  yet  we  ought  (z*.  e, 
it  is  reasonable)  to  secure  for  ourselves  the  most  plea- 
sant, so  long  as  this  does  not  interfere  with  the  pleasure 
of  any  one  else  ;  and,  in  general,  we  ought  to  act  in 
such  a  way  as  to  make  the  sum  of  the  pleasures  of  all 
psychoses,  present  and  future,  as  great  as  possible. 

Now  it  is  true,  I   think,  that  pleasure   may  fairly  be 
described  as  a  sense  of  value.'^     Mr.  Bradley  has  said  3 


1  Huxley's  Hume,  p.  62. 

2  Cf.  Dewey's  Psychology,  p.  16.  I  mean  that  it  is  truer  to  call 
pleasure  a  sense  of  value  than  to  represent  it  as  constituting  value. 
But  even  to  call  it  a  sense  of  value  involves  a  kind  of  anticipation. 
In  sensuous  pleasure,  for  instance,  we  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
any  consciousness  of  value.  The  general  subject  of  the  relation 
between  pleasure  and  value  is,  however,  too  complicated  to  be  dis- 
cussed here.  I  have  made  some  attempt  to  deal  with  it  in  a  Note  on 
Value  at  the  end  of  Chap.  IV.  of  my  Introdtiction  to  Social  Philosophy. 
Cf.  also  *•  Notes  on  the  Theory  of  Value  "  in  Mind,  New  Series,  Vol. 
IV.,  no.  16. 

8  Ethical  Studies,  p.  234.  Mr.  Bradley  has  since  abandoned  this 
view.  The  element  of  truth  in  it  seems  to  lie  in  the  fact  that 
pleasure  consists  in  a  certain  harmony  of  the  content  of  conscious- 


I     -1 

Hi  AW 


224 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 


§9.] 


THE   STANDARD   AS    HAPPINESS.  22$ 


that  pleasure  is  essentially  *'  the  feeling  ofself-realised- 
ness. "  Exception  might  be  taken  to  this,  on  the  ground 
that  it  can  scarcely  be  applied  to  the  feelings  of  ani- 
mals, or  to  the  more  animal  pleasures  of  men.  But  at 
any  rate  we  may  say  that  the  feeling  of  pleasure  is  the 
accompaniment  of  objects  which  have  a  certain  value  » 
for  the  consciousness  to  which  they  are  presented.  It 
is  of  some  importance,  I  think,  to  remember  that  it  is 
the  objects,  not  the  feelings  of  pleasure,  that  have 
value — the  feeling  of  pleasure  being  the  se7ise  of  value, 
not  the  zw///^  itself ;  but  with  this  point  we  need  not 
here  trouble  ourselves.  It  is  sufficient  to  note  that, 
from  this  point  of  view,  it  seems  at  least  plausible  to 
say  that,  though  pleasure  is  not  the  direct  object  of 
desire,  and  though  it  is  not  even  in  itself  that  which 
has  value  for  us,  yet  it  may  be  accepted  as  the  fneasure 
0/ value  ;  just  as  the  degrees  of  a  thermometer,  though 
not  themselves  heat,  may  be  taken  as  the  measure  of 
heat ;  or  as  a  token  currency,  though  of  little  value  in 
itself,  may  serve  to  measure  the  values  of  commodi- 
ties. 

This,  I  say,  is  a  plausible  view.  But  it  evidently 
rests  on  the  assumption  that  pleasures  are  all  of  the 
same  sort  ;  just  as  the  power  of  money  to  serve  as  a 
measure  of  the  values  of  goods  rests  on  the  assumption 
of  a  certain  uniformity  in  the  currency.     If  the  sense 

ness  with  the  form  of  unity  within  which  it  falls.  But  this  form  of 
unity  need  not  be  a  definite  consciousness  of  self  and  its  realization. 
1  Wherein  this  value  consists,  we  are  not  here  called  upon  to  de- 
cide. It  may  lie,  as  many  psychologists  have  supposed,  in  a  certain 
heightening  of  general  vitality  or  of  particular  vital  functions.  On 
the  general  nature  of  pleasure  and  pain,  and  their  place  in  our 
conscious  life,  the  stuilent  may  be  referred  to  Mr.  Stout's  Analytic 
Psychology,  chap,  xii.,  or  to  his  Manual^  pp.  234-240. 


I 


of  value  which  we  have  in  pleasant  feehng  is  to  be 
°aken  as  the  measure  of  the  values  which  we  reasonably 
attach  to  the  different  objects  that  are  presented   o  our 
consciousness,  this  implies  that  the  values  are  always 
judged  by  the  same  standard,  always  presented,  so  to 
speak,  before  the  same  court  of  appeal.     Or  (takn  g  Mr. 
Brldi;ys  phrase)  if  pleasure  is  the  feeling  of  self-rea- 
lisedness,  then  in   taking  pleasure  as  the  measure  of 
our  self-realisation,    we  assume  that  it  is  always  the 
same  self  that  is  realised.     But  is  this  the  case  ?     Be- 
fore   considering   this   point   any   further,    it  may   be 
well  to  notice  the  form  in  which  it  was  presented  by 

^^'(i)  Quality  of  Pleasures.-VJe  may  say  briefly  that 
the  Hedonistic  theory  proceeds  on  the  assumption  that 
all  pleasures  are  capable  of  being  quantitatively  com- 
pared-that   it   is  always  possible  to  determine  with 
regard  to  two  pleasures,   or  two  sums  of  pleasures 
which  is  the  greater  and  which  is  the  less^    On  this  point 
a  serious  difficulty  was  raised-  by  J.  S.  Mill,  who  called 
attention  to  the  fact  that  pleasures  differ  not  merely  ,n 
quantity  but  also  in  quality-that   some  pleasures  are 
preferable  to  others,  not  because  as  pleasures  they  are 
greater,  but  because  they  are  of  a  more  excellent  kmd. 
If  this  is  the    case,  it   is   evident  that   the  Hedonistic 
theory  must  be  abandoned,  for  it  is  then  no  longer  true 
that  pleasure  is  the  only  desirable  thing.     One  pleasure 
is,  on  this  view,  more  desirable  than   another,  not  on 
account  of  its  nature  as  pleasure,  but  on  account  of 
some  other  quality  that  it  possesses,  beyond  its  mere 
1  Utilitarianism,  chap.  ii.    He  did  not,  indeed,  "ise  the  point  as  a 
difficulty,  but  rather  as  indicating  a  way  out  of  a  difficulty.    But 
evidently  it  is  a  difficulty  from  the  Hedonistic  point  of  view. 
Eth.  '5 


226  ETHICS.  [BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 

pleasantness.  Further,  if  we  admit  differences  of 
quality,  it  becomes  impossible  to  place  pleasures,  and 
sums  of  pleasure,  in  any  precise  order  of  desirability. 
Qualities  cannot  be  estimated  against  quantities,  unless 
in  some  way  they  can  be  reduced  to  quantities—and 
this,  on  Mill's  supposition,  is  not  the  case.  It  becomes 
important,  therefore,  to  consider  whether  there  really 
\are  qualitative  differences  among  pleasures.  In  order 
to  do  this,  we  must  recur  to  some  of  the  points  that 
were  discussed  in  a  former  chapter. 

(c)  Kinds  of  Pleasure.— ki  the  beginning  of  Book  I. 
we  distinguished  between  appetites  and  desires,  and  we 
pointed  out  also  that  desires  may  belong  to  a  great 
variety  of  distinct  universes.     Now  just  as  there  is  a  dis- 
tinction between  different  kinds  of  desire,  so  there  is  a 
distinction  between  the  feelings  of  satisfaction  which 
accompany  the  attainment  of  their  objects.      When  an 
appetite  is  satisfied,  the  feeling  of  satisfaction  is  simple 
and  immediate.     It  is  to  this  kind  of  feeling  that  the  term 
pleasure   is    perhaps    most  properly  applied.     On  the 
other  hand,  the  feeling  which  accompanies  the  satis- 
faction   of  desire  is  of  a  more  intellectual  or  reflective 
character,  and  ought  perhaps  rather  to  be  described  as 
happiness.      Human  desire  involves   the  more  or  less 
direct  consciousness  of  an  end,  and  in  the  feeling  which 
accompanies  its  satisfaction  there  is  also  a  more  or  less 
direct  consciousness  of  an   end   attained.      These  feel- 
ings vary  greatly,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  uni- 
verse within  which  we  are  living  at  the  time  when  the 
desire  is    satisfied.     The  feelings  of  satisfaction  that 
belong  to  the  universe  of  self-interest  are  very  different 
from,  those  that  belong  to  the  universe  of  duty  ;  those 
that  belong  to  the  universe  of  animal  enjoyment  are 


§  9.]  THE  STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  22/ 

very  different  from  those  that  belong  to  the  universe 
o   poetic  or  religious  emotion.     Carlyle  ^as  sug^-^ 
^hat   in  the  case  of  such  higher  universes  as  these,  the 
feem.g  ought   to  be  described  rather  as  hlessednessj 
ht  as  Happiness.     At  any  rate,  whether  or  not  we 
use  d^erent  words  for  the  different  universes,  it  seems 
deaf  that  the  feelings  in  question  are  of  v-y  d.fferen 
characters.     It  is,  in  fact,  a  very  different  self  that  is 
real  S  n  each  of  these  cases  ;  and  the  feeling  o   self- 
ea  iei  ess  is  consequently  different.     Or,  to  put  1  m 
tre  other  form  that  we  have  used,   the  sense   of  value 
n  ea  h  case  is  a  sense  of  value  for  a  different  judge. 
We   a  e   estimating,   as   it  were,    sometimes  m  gc^d 
Tmet  mes  in  silver,  and  sometimes  in  copper.     Now 
t  mfgM  be   possible,  no   doubt,   to   find   a   common 
denominator  for  these  :  but  this  common  denonimator 
does  not  seem  to  be  supplied  in  the  feeling  of  pleasure 

'''There  is  however,  a  difficulty  which  is  apt  to  pre- 
selt  Self  Lt  this  point.     It  is  apt  to  be  thought  tha 
;tt   is   different  in  these  different  cases  is  not   h 
feeline   itself,   but  merely   the   object   on    which   the 
Sii.!  depends.     This  is  the  point  that  we  have  next 

'\7S--  inseparaUe  from  its  Ol^jecU-^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
it  must  be  remembered,  is  not  an  entity  having  an    x 
istence  by  itself,  independently  of  the  object  m  which 
ptTsurel  felt,   or  of  the  unity  of  consciousness  to 

tual  Love  of  God,    x.  e  in  xnt,  j>v  ^^  Morals, 

realization  of  a  spiritual  principle.    C/.  also  Janet  y  j 

Book  I.,  chap.  ix. 


228 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  IV. 


which  that  object  is  presented.     It  is  an  element  in  a 
total  state  of  consciousness,  and  is  entirely  relative  to 
the  other  elements  in  that  state.     It  is  the  inner  side 
of  that  of  which  the  other  elements  may  be  said  to 
form  the  outer  side.     The  sharp  distinction  that  we 
are  apt  to  draw  between   an  object  of  consciousness 
and   the   feeling   of  pleasure  or    pain  which    accom- 
panies it,  is  due  largely  to  an  inadequate  apprehension 
of  the  nature  of  the  object  which  is  presented  to  our 
consciousness.      Take,  for  instance,  the  pleasure  which 
accompanies  the  hearing  of  a  musical    performance. 
The  pleasure  here  is  evidently  quite  distinct  from  the 
music  which  we  hear.     But  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  music  which  we  hear  is  not  the  total   object 
that  is  before  our  consciousness.     The  hearing  of  the 
music  is  accompanied  by  all  sorts   of  ideas  which  it 
calls  up  in   our  minds.      It  is  accompanied  also  by 
other   ideas    which    were  passing   through  our  minds 
before  the  music  commenced.     The  object  which  is 
before   our   consciousness   is   a   complex  total  of  in- 
numerable thoughts  and  images.     Now  the  feeling  of 
pleasure  is  not  this  complex  total  ;  but  neither  can  it 
be  said  to  be  anything-  that  is   separable   from    that 
total.      It  is  the  inner  side  to  which   that  total  corre- 
sponds as  the  outer  side.     Given  that  total,  we  could 
not  but  have  that  feeling  of  pleasure.     Change  that 
total,    and    our    feeling    of    pleasure    must    also     be 
changed.     The  total  content  of  our  consciousness  in 
listening  to  a  piece  of  music  is  different  from  the  total 
content  in  reading  a  novel  or  witnessing  a  dramatic 
performance:  the  feeling  of  pleasure  is  also  different. 
The  feeling  and  the  object  to  which  it  corresponds  are 
like  the  two  sides  of  a  curve.     They  are  distinguishable 


&  o.]  THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  229 

from  one  another  ;  yet  they  are  inseparable,  and  the 
one  necessarily  varies  with  the  other.  \ 

(e)   Pleasures  cannot  be  Summed.^li  follows  from 
this  that  there  cannot  be  ^ny  caicu/us  of  pleasures-- 
i    e    that  the   values   of  pleasures  cannot  be   quanti- 
tatively estimated.     For  there  can  be  no  quantitative 
estimate  of  things  that  are  not  homogeneous.      But 
indeed,    even    apart    from    this    consideration    there 
seems  to  be  a  certain  confusion  in  the  Hedonistic  idea 
that  we  ought  to  aim  at  a  greatest  sum  of  pleasures 
If  pleasure  is  the  one  thing  that  is  desirable,  it  is  clear 
that   a   sum  of  pleasures  cannot  be  desirable  ;  for  a 
sum  of  pleasures  is  not  pleasure.     We  are  apt  to  think 
that  a  sum  of  pleasures  is  pleasure,  just  as  a  sum  of 

iDr  Sidgwick  has  replied  to  this  objection,  as  stated  by  Green. 
«.  Tt?s  sometrmes  said."  he  remarks  iMethods  of  Ethics,  Book  II  chap. 
ii^V^r.'     'that  'pleasure  as  feeling,  in  distincUon  from  is  con 

\  .  f  fhat  r,n  ani?le  cannot  be  '  conceived    apart  from  its  siaes 

m  c^tlly  anno" fo^rthe  notion  of  an  angle  without  the  notion  of 
We  certa  n  y  can  u  prevent  us  from  apprehending 

,,.„  that  of  ^-y^^^ZriZ^:^^  anyVeasure 
SVaSrtfr— :lr^c^n.m^^^^^ 

SncelnThe  world  to  the  kind  of  pleasure  that  we  feel 


230 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CII.  IV. 


numbers  is   a  number.     But  this  is  evidently  not  the 
case.     A  sum  of  pleasures   is   not   pleasure,  any  more 
than  a  sum  of  men  is  a  man.     For  pleasures,  like  men, 
cannot   be    added   to  one  another.      Consequently,    if 
pleasure  is  the  only  thing  that   is   desirable,  a  sum  of 
pleasures  cannot  possibly  be  desirable.      If  the  Hedon- 
istic view  were  to  be  adopted,    we  ought  always  to 
desire  the  greatest  pleasure — /.  e.  we  ought  to  aim  at 
producing  the  most  intense  feeling  of  pleasure  that  it 
is   possible    to   reach    in    some    one's    consciousness.' 
This  would  be  the  highest   aim.     A  sum  of  smaller 
pleasures    in  a  number  of  different  people's  conscious- 
nesses, could  not  be  preferable  to  this  ;   because  a  sum 
of  pleasures  is  not  pleasure  at  all.     The  reason  why 
this    does    not    appear   to    be   the    case,    is    that   we 
habitually  think  of  the  desirable  thing  for  man  not  as 
a  feeling  of  pleasure  but  as  a  continuous  state  of  hap- 
piness.    But  a  continuous  state  of  happiness  is  not  a 
mere  feeling  of  pleasure.     It  has  a  certain  objective  con- 
tent.    Now  if  we  regard  this  content  as  the  desirable 
thing,  we  do  not  regard  the  feeling  of  pleasure  as  the 
one  thing  that  is  desirable  ;  i  e.  we  abandon  Hedonism. 
(/")  Matter  without  Form. — We  may  sum  up  the  de- 
fects of  Hedonism  by  saying  that  it  has  the  opposite 

1  Just  as,  if  our  object  were  to  produce  the  greatest  man  (instead 
of  the  greatest  pleasure),  Falstaff  would  have  to  be  preferred  to  the 
whole  of  his  ragged  company.  We  may  calculate,  no  doubt,  that 
nine  tailors  make  a  man  ;  but  that  is  only  on  the  assumption  that 
our  object  is  not  man  as  such,  but  the  fulfilment  of  certain  functions 
of  a  man.  It  might  be  said  that  in  a  number  of  men  there  is  more 
flesh  and  blood  and  bone  than  in  oue.  But  this  is  to  measure  flesh, 
blood,  and  bone,  not  men.  So  it  is  possible  that  in  a  number  of 
pleasant  experiences  there  is  more  of  something  than  there  is  in 
one.    But  they  are  not  a  greater  pleasure. 


9-] 


THE    STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  23I 


fault  to  that  which  we  found  in  the  system  of  Kant. 
Kants  principle  of  self-consistency  Z^-'^.^^^^^^T^^r 
out  matter-the  mere  form  of  reason,  with  a^l  the  par- 
dcular   content   of  the    desires    left  out      Hedonism 
on  the  other  hand,  gives  us  matter  without  form.     It 
takes  up  all  the  desires  as  they  stand,  and  regards  the 
atisfaction  of  all  as  having  an  equal  right,  m  so  far  as 
the  pleasant  feeling  accompanying  the  satisfaction  ^ 
equally   intense   and   lasts   equally  long.     This  view 
Lucres   the  fact  that  what  we  really  seek  to  satisfy 
iS  not  our  desires  but  ourselves ;  and  the  value  of  our 
satisfactions  depends  on  the  kind  of  self  to  which  the 
satisfactionis  given-,  e.  it  depends  on  the  universe 
within  which  the  satisfaction  is  received.     It  may  be 
mere  animal  pleasure  :  it  may  be  human  happmess  : 
it  may  be  saint-like  bliss.     To  consider  it  in  this  way 
is  to  consider  our  desires  with  reference  to  their>r,« 
-with  reference  to  the  universe  in  which  they  have  a 
place.     Hedonism  ignores  this  form.     It  looks  on  our 
desires   and   their   gratifications   simply  as  quantities 
of  raw  material.     It   regards   our  wants  as  so  many 
mouths  to  be  filled,  and  the  pleasures  of  their  satisfac- 
tion as  so  many  lumps  of  sugar  to  go  into  them.     It 
is  matter  without  form." 

1  For  further  criticism  on  Hedonism.  I  may  refer  to  Bradley's 
EtLl  St,.Mes,  Essay  HI.,  Green's  P/^J^^omau^to  Em^^^^^^^ 

Ansnptus  ,0  Stccer.  and  the  ^^^^^^^^J ,2;JZTl  7^^«./  of 
Pleasure  the  Summum  Bonum  ?    m  the  linermnwnu  „„  ,.  ■ 

E,ir  Vo   VI    no  +    For  a  fuller  statement  of  my  own  view  on  th,s 
fuSt  I  '"^y  -fer^o  my  IntroducHon  ,0  Social  PhUosopUy,  chap.  iv. 


/ 


*'■>* 


232 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  TI.,  cm.  IV. 


^  10.  Relation  of  Happiness  to  the  Self. — But 
though  we  thus  seem  bound  to  reject  the  Hedonistic 
theory,  we  must  not  overlook  the  importance  of  hap- 
piness. If  happiness  is  not  exactly  "  our  being's  end 
and  aim,"  it  is  yet  certain  that  we  cannot  attain  the  end 
of  our  being  without  attaining  happiness.  All  that  we 
have  to  insist  on  is  that  in  seeking  happiness  we  must 
observe  exactly  what  kind  of  happiness  it  is  that  we 
seek.  Happiness  is  relative  to  the  nature  of  the  being 
who  enjoys  it.  The  happiness  of  a  man  is  different  from 
the  happiness  of  a  beast  :  the  happiness  of  a  wise  man 
is  different  from  the  happiness  of  a  fool.  What  con- 
stitutes our  happiness,  in  fact,  depends  on  the  universe 
in  which  we  live.  The  smaller  our  universe,  the  more 
easily  is  our  happiness  attained. 

"  That  low  man  seeks  a  little  thing  to  do, 
Sees  it  and  does  it : 
This  high  man,  with  a  great  thing  to  pursue, 
Dies  ere  he  knows  it," 

*•  It  is  indisputable,"  as  Mill  says, ^  "  that  the  being 
whose  capacities  of  enjoyment  are  low,  has  the  greatest 
chance  of  having  them  fully  satisfied  ;  and  a  highly 
endowed  being  will  always  feel  that  any  happiness 
which  he  can  look  for,  as  the  world  is  constituted,  is 
imperfect.  But  he  can  learn  to  bear  its  imperfections 
if  they  are  at  all  bearable  ;  and  they  will  not  make  him 
envy  the  being  who  is  indeed  unconscious  of  the  im- 
perfections, but  only  because  he  feels  not  at  all  the 
good  which  those  imperfections  qualify.  It  is  better 
to  be  a  human  being  dissatisfied  than  a  pig  satisfied  ; 
better  to  be  Socrates  dissatisfied  than  a  fool  satisfied. " 
What  is  important,  then,  is  not  that  we  should  seek  the 

1  Utilitatianism,  chap.  ii. 


I  ,,.]  THE   STANDARD   AS   HAPPINESS.  233 

.re.test  sum  of  happiness,  but  the  best  kind  of  happi- 
f,esf<  We  can  only  have  the  highest  happness,    sa,d 
rZ^^  Ehot  ■  "-such  as  goes  along  vvith  bemg  a  great 
2,r-by  having  wide  thoughts,  and  much  feehng  for 
The   est  of  the  world  as  well  as  ourselves  ;  -^  th;s  sor 
If  h-iDDiness  often  brings  so  much  pam  with  it  that  we 
llo^Zx  it  from  pain  by  its  being  what  we  wou  d 
choose  before  everything  else,  because  our  soul    see 
U  is Tood  "    Thenatureofthe  highest  happiness,  then 
depefds  not  on  its  being  the  greatest  sum   bu^  on  its 

hcLiging  to  the  highest  ^'"f  ^^/^-^^  'the  natur; 
it  depends   on  the  nature  of  the  sell    »   J 
of  the  universe  within  which  we  l^^^'^^^^^  ^'^',    , ,.'' 
a  t  h°the  highest  happiness   then,  we  --^   -e  h  b.t 
ually  i..  the  highest  kind  of  universe,  and  the  desires 
that'belong  to  that  universe  must  be  sa  .fied. 

S  11    Self-realisation  as  the  End,— We  seem,  now 
evlto4i-ryrittle  farther  on  than  we  were  at    he 
beginning  of  this  chapter.     For  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Spter  we  propounded  the  question,  Joj  ^^  ^^^^^ 

disthiguish  a  higher  --"^  ^™-/;:  ^ ^n  y   been 
nnp«^tion    is   Still   unanswered.     We    na\  e    omy        ^ 
:S  t:  see  that  quantity  of  pl-sure  cannot   urn^^^^ 

the  criterion,  and  that  we  must  1°°'/    f      We  see  Tn 
rather  in  the  nature  of  the  character  itself.     We  see 
f,rt   that  the  end  must  consist  m  some  form  of  sell 
fac     that  the  ena  development  of 

realisation,   t.  e.  in  some  lonu  described 

character-that  the  end,  in  short   ought  to  be  described 
rather   as  per/eclion   than    as   happiness,     ^li^t   p« 
fection  or  self-realisation   consists  m,  we  must  endea 
vour  to  find  out  in  the  following  chapter. 

1  Epilogue  to  Romola. 


234 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  STANDARD  AS  PERFECTION. 

I 

§  1.  Application  of  Evolution  to  Morals.— The  idea 
that  the  end  at  which  we  are  to  aim  is  the  realisation 
of  the  self  or  the  development  of  character,  leads  us  at 
once  to   rej^ard  the  moral  life  as  a   process   of  growth. 
Although  this  idea  has  often  been  applied  to  the  moral 
life  in  former  ages,  yet  it  is  chiefly  in  recent  times  that 
the  conception  has  been  made  prominent.      The  whole 
idea  of  growth  or  development— the  idea  of  ''evolu- 
tion," as  it  is  often  called— may  almost  be  said  to  be  a 
discovery  of  the  present  century.     It  was  first  brought 
into  prominence  by  Hegel  and  Comte  ;  it  was  applied 
by    Lamarck,    Darwin,    and   others,    to    the   origin   of 
species  ;  while  Mr.  Spencer  and  others  have  extended 
its    applications   to    the   origin    of  social    institutions, 
forms  of  government,  and  the  like,  and  even  to  the 
formation  of  the  solar  and  stellar  systems.     With  these 
applications  we  are  not  here  concerned.      We  have  to 
deal  only  with  the  application  of  the  idea  of  evolution 
t  .  morals.      And  even  with  this  application  we  have  to 
deal  only  in  a  certain  aspect.     We  are  not  concerned  at 
present  with  the  fact  that  the  moral  life  of  individuals 
and  nations  undergoes  a  gradual  growth  or  develop- 
ment in  the  course  of  years  or  ages.     This  is  a  fact  of 
moral   history,  whereas   here  we  are  concerned   only 
with  the  theory  of  that  which  is  essential  to  the  very 


\ 


I  2.]  THE   STANDARD   AS   PERFECTION.  235 

nature  of  morality.     When  we  say,  then,  that  the  idea 
^f  evolution  is  applicable  to  the  moral  life,  we  mean 
that  the  moral  life  is,  in  its  very  essence,  a  growth  or 
development.     The  sense  in  which  it  .s  so  w.ll,  U  :s 
honed  become  apparent  as  we  proceed. 
T2    D=— '-^  o.LiKE.-We  may  say,  to  beg.n 
with,  that  what  we  mean  is  this.     There  :s  u.  the 
moral  life  of  man  a  certain  end  or  ideal,  to  wh.ch  he 
Ly  attain,  or  of  which  he  may  fall  short ;  -d /he  s.gm- 
ficlce  of  his  life  consists  in  the  PU-'^^  ^^  ^^ 
or  ideal,  and  the  gradual  attamment  of  it      We  may 
i,  ustrat;  what  we  mean  by  reference  to  the  forms  of 
animal  life.     Among  animals  there  are  some  that  we 
naturally  regard  as  standing  higher  in  the  scale  ofbemg 
"In  others      We  judge  them  to  be  higher  by  reference 
o  a  certain  (it  may  be  a  somewhat  vague)  standard 
that  we  have  in  our  minds-whether  it  be,  as  w.th  Mr. 
teZn  Spencer,  the  standard  of  adaptation  to  the.r 
":Lnmrnt,  or  the  standard  °f  approx.mat.on  to  the 
human   type,  or   whatever  else   xt   may  be.     Now  .f 
we  are  rfght  in  supposing  that  there  is  a  contmuous 
development  going  on  throughoutthespec.es  of  amma 
e  S^L.  thermal  significance  o^ /.f  ^f^J^^ ^ 
will  lie  in  the  evolution  of  forms  of  life  that  approach 
Tore  and  more  nearly  to  the  standard  or  ideal  type. 
■      S  mnarly  the  evolutionary  theory  of  Ethics  is  the  v.ew 
Sther;  is  a  standard  or  ideal  of  character,  and    hat 
the  significance  of  the  moral  life  consists  m  the  grad- 
ual approximation  to  that  type. 

8  3  Higher  and  Lower  Views  of  Development. -In 
all  development  there  is  a  beginning,  a  Process,  and  an 
end.  The  developing  thing  starts  from  a  certam  leve 
and  moves  onwards  towards  a  higher  level.     Now  in 


236 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,CH.  V. 


general  what  is  presented  to  us  is  neither  the  beginning 
nor  the  end,   but  the  process.      The  lowest  forms  of 
animal  life  do  not  often  come  before  our  notice,  and 
the  nature  of  the  lowest  of  all  is  quite  obscure.      Nor 
do  we  know  what  possibilities  there  may  be  of  still 
further  development  in  the  forms  of  animal  life.     The 
starting-point   and   the  goal   are  alike  concealed   from 
us  :  we  see  only  the  race.     So  it  is  also  with  the  moral 
life.     The  earliest   beginnings  of  the  moral  conscious- 
ness are  hidden  in  obscurity  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  can  scarcely  form  a  clear  conception  of  a  perfectly 
developed  moral  life.      We  know  it  only  in  the  course 
of  its  development.     Nevertheless,  we  cannot  under- 
stand  the    process  except    by  reference  either   to  its 
beginning  or  to  its  end.      And  we   may   endeavour  to 
understand  it  by  reference  either  to  the  one  or  to  the 
other.     Hence  there  are  two  possible  methods  of  inter- 
preting the  moral  life,  if  we  adopt  the  theory  of  devel- 
opment.    We  may  explain  it  by  reference  to  its  begin- 
ning or  to  its  end.     The  former  is  perhaps  the  more 
natural  method  ;  as  it  is  most  usual  to  explain  pheno- 
mena by  their  causes  and  mode  of  origination.     But 
further  consideration  seems  to  show  that  this  is  in  reality 
the  lower  and  less  satisfactory  method.      Let  us  con- 
sider briefly  the  nature  and  merits  of  the  two  methods. 
§4.    Explanation     by     Beginning. — It    seems    most 
natural  at  first  to  endeavour  to  explain  the  moral  life 
by  tracing  it  back  to  its  origin  in  the  needs  of  savages, 
or  even  in  the  struggles  of  the  lower  animals.      It  is  in 
this  way  that  we  explain  ordinary  natural  phenomena, 
such  as  the  formation  of  geological  strata,  and  even  the 
growth  and   decline  of  nations.      We  go   back  to  the 
beginning,  or  as  near  to  the  beginning  as  we  can  get, 


» 


§5-] 


THE   STANDARD   AS   PERFECTION. 


237 


.nd   trace   the   causes   that   have  been    in    operation 
;lS::t  the  -eiop-ntonheohj^^^^  o   onr  stud. 

we  do  not  ^2:^t  gie^:?,  throw  littie,  if  any. 
;;r  :rpon  tsttir^ondition.  Ou^ht  not  the  develop- 
LtHf  morals  to  be  studied  in  the  sam^  vvay  ?     The 

not  concernea  ,    ^     ■^^  t^e  determuiation 

with  the  tracnig  of  history,  but  w  ^.^^ 

of  ideals  and  the  cons.dera   on  ^fjhe  vn  ay  ^^ 

these  ideals  influence  conduct.     Nov^  the  ul 
the  end  rather  than  at  the  begn,nn,g      In  deal  "S 
natural  phenomena  we  -e  concerned  pnma   ly     ^^^ 
what  is,  and  secondanly  w  th  ^h^^^    ^^  ^^,,,  ,,„d, 
ut:frm;att?vrUU  "i^S' to  .no^^ 

'^  Man  partfy  is.  ^^^i^jj^^^     •  ecti"n^7  h" 

'^  ':r^  ^L  mean  ngttrirhowever.  may  become 
growth.  ^h«  "1^;"  ^^f„ti„„  for  a  little  to  the  theory  of 
'^  Tf  iTmost  em  n  nt  of  those  recent  writers  who 
h::etndeavrid  to  deal  with  the  moral  life  by  traang 

"  ^5 'mV^H™  Sp.kc.k's  V.W  0.   ET„.s.-Mn 
Ju    f  ^..Pncer's  theory  on  this  subject  is  contauied 

To  ^ive  any  complete  account  of  the  contenib 
1  o  give  ciuy  V.        t-  r,:^tnrv  scnsc  in  which  we  say 

1  /.  ..  what  is  in  the  purely  "^'"/^"^Vn  "he  deeper  sense,  of 
that  the  lion  is,  while  the  unicorn  .s«o^n  .^^  ^^^,^  ^^^^ 

course.  Ethics  is  '^on^^"^^^:;^'^^^  oilL  present  Book.  § ... 
rCVrrorhis'Lte^bofu,  'ne  Pr.,c.,Us  of  Ems. 


238 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CII.  V. 


book  would  be  quite  impossible  here ;  but  the  follow- 
ing may  be  taken  as  indicating  its  drift. '     Mr.  Spencer 
begins  by  trying  to  determine  what  we  mean  by  con- 
duct, and  what  we  mean  by  calling  conduct  good  or 
bad.      He  examines  this  question  by  going  back  to  the 
life  of  the  lower  animals.     In  all  life  there  is  what  may 
be   called   conduct,  and   in   all  life  it  may  be  good  or 
bad.     Now  the  essence  of  life,  as  seen  in   its  lowest 
forms,    consists,    according   to    Mr.    Spencer,   in    "the 
continuous  adjustment  of  internal  relations  to  external 
relations  "— /.  e.  the  constant  effort  of  an  organism  to 
adapt  itself  to   its   environment.     All    conduct   tends 
either  to  promote  or  to  hinder  such  adaptation.      In  so 
far  as  it  tends  to  promote  it,  it  is  good  :  in  so  far  as  it 
tends  to  hinder  it,  it  is  bad.     Good  conduct  produces 
pleasure,  because  it  brings  the  organism  into  harmony 
with   its    surroundings.      Bad  conduct   produces  pain. 
Nearly  all    conduct    is    partly   good    and    partly    bad. 
Perfectly  good  conduct  would  be  that  which  produces 
only  pleasure  with  no  accompanying  pain.     But  con- 
duct is  relatively  good  when  it  tends  on  the  whole  to 
produce  a  surplus  of  pleasure  over  pain—/,  e.  when  it 
tends    on    the   whole  to  produce  a  more    perfect    ad- 
justment of  organism  to  environment.     The  supreme 
moral  end  is  to  help  on  the  process  of  development, 
which  consists  in  a  more  and  more  perfect  adjustment 
of  internal  relations  to  external  relations. 

§  6.  Criticism    of    Mr.    Spencer's    View. Now  this 

theory  is  in  many  ways  suggestive.  It  helps  to  bring 
the  study  of  the  moral  life  into  co-ordination  with  the 
study  of  Hfe  generally;  and  this  is  in  harmony  with 
the  whole  development  of  modern  scientific  thought, 
1  Cf.  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  254-257. 


I  6.]  THE  STANDARD   AS   PERFECTION.  239 

^.■.h  leads  us  to  believe  that  there  are  no  absolute 
liv  Jons  between  the  various  objects  of  our  kno^vledge. 
and  hat  we  are  never  likely  to  fully  understand  any 
.f  thlse  obiects  without  bringing  it  into  relation 
?"'l,  hi  rest  Yet  a  little  reflection  seems  to  show 
Lt  Mr  Spcei  theory  involves  a  kind  of  S...«. 
that  l*  ^j^    j,^rt  before  the  horse.     For  what 

T'^Tbv  sS  that  the  development  of  our  lives 
iZfXZlLs   process   of  adjustment   to    our 
rnvion-ent?     It  is  easy  to  see  that  in  a  certam  sense 
such  a  process  is  continually  gomg  on.     The  progress 
of  our  knowledge  means  that  we  are  constantly  ad^iust- 
.  :i  deas  nfore  and  more  to  the  objective  real,  . 
of^i^ture      In  like  manner,   the  advance  of    he  arts 
melns  that  we  are  gradually  learning  to  adjust  our 
Todes  of  life  to  the  necessities  i-P-ed  upon  us  b 

^'- r'rf.:^fw:rir;rhavr.^s::eter 

Ta^ne'rs";.  e  Taws  'than  our  forefathers   in  so  far  as 
we  have  wider  ideas  of  what  is  required  of  us,  and  are 
Tore  conscientious  in  meeting  these  requirements,  a, 
this  means  that  we  are  adjustmg  o.u  modes  of  Me 
more  and  more  to  the  necessities  of  the  case_Ju 
what  exactly  is  implied  in  this  adjustment?     Does  it 
Lt  impi;.  'above  Everything,  that   we   have   certain 
1c   iLi   we   set  before  ourselves  to  be    attamea  . 
Wtn  we  sr/th^t  two  things  are  not  adju.ed  to  one 
another,  we  imply  that  we  have  some  ''lea  of  a  -k^^n 
in  which  the  two  things  ought  to  stand  and  m  v.h,ch 
at  present  they  do  not  stand.     In  a  sense  everything  is 
fdfusted  to  everything  else.     Death  is  an  adjus  men 
A  living  being  is  conscious  of  a  certain  want  of  adjust 
tent  mily  bemuse  it  has  certain  definite  aims.     The 


240 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CII.  V. 


scientific  man  perceives  that  his  ideas  are  not  fully 
adjusted  to  the  facts  of  nature,  and  he  pursues  know- 
ledge in  order  that  he  may  adjust  them  more  com- 
pletely ;  but  a  stone  is  adjusted  to  its  environment 
without  the  need  of  any  such  effort.^  The  scientific 
man  is  aware  of  a  want  of  adjustment  simply  because 
he  is  aware  of  an  unattained  end — in  other  words, 
because  he  brings  an  ideal  with  him  to  which  the  world 
does  not  conform.  But  if  this  be  so,  then  surely  we 
ought  to  turn  the  statement  the  other  way  about.  We 
ought  not  to  say  that  the  deficiency  of  living  beings, 
which  the  development  of  their  lives  is  gradually 
removing,  consists  in  the  fact  that  they  are  not 
adjusted  to  their  environment  ;  but  rather,  at  least  in 
the  case  of  self-conscious  beings,  that  the  deficiency 
consists  in  the  fact  that  their  environment  is  not 
adjusted  to  them.  For  it  is  not  in  the  environment,  but 
in  themselves,  that  the  standard  lies,  with  reference  to 
which  a  deficiency  is  pronounced.  If  a  man  were 
content  to  ''  let  the  world  slide,"  he  would  soon  enough 
become  adjusted  to  his  environment ;  it  is  because  he 
insists  on  pursuing  his  own  ends  that  the  process  of 
adjustment  is  a  hard  one.  It  is  because  he  wants  to 
adjust  his  environment  to  himself;  or  rather,  because 
he  wants  to  adjust  both  himself  and  his  surroundings 
to  a  certain  ideal  of  what  his  life  ought  to  be.  Even  in 
the  case  of  the  lower  animals,  indeed,  it  would  often 
be  as  true  to  say  that  they  adjust  their  environment 
to  themselves  as  that  they  adjust  themselves  to  their 
environment.  In  any  case,  adjustment  seems  to  have 
no  meaning  unless  w^e  presuppose  some  ideal  form  of 
adjustment,  some  end  that  is  consciously  or  uncon- 
^  Cf.  Prof.  Alexander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  pp.  271-2. 


§7-] 


THE   STANDARD   AS   PERFECTION.  24I 


sciously  sought.  But  if  so,  then  it  is  surely  rather  w.  h 
the  idea  of  this  end  that  we  ought  to  start  than  with 
the  mere  idea  of  the  process  of  adjustment,  in  which 
the  end  is  presupposed.  Though  it  seems  natural  to 
begin  at  the  beginning  in  our  explanation  and  move 
on  through  the  process,  to  the  end  ;  yet  since  in  thiB 
case  it  is  the  end  by  which  the  process  is  determined, 
it  is  rather  at  the  end  that  we  ought  to  begin.  ■ 

8  7    Views  of  other  Evolutionists. —Mr.   Spencers 
theor'v  is  distinguished  from  that  of  most  other  writers 
of  the   evolutionist   school  by    the   distinctness    with 
which  he  recognises  an  ultimate  and  absolute  end  to 
which  conduct   is  directed.     Although   he  begins  his 
explanation  from  below,  from  the  beginning,  from  the 
simplest  forms  of  life,  he  yet  leads  up  to  the  concep- 
tion of  an    absolute  end.     Hence   he  insists  on  the 
need    of  treating    Ethics   from    a  teleological    point 
of  view  ^ ;  and  indeed  carries  his  conception  of  an 
ultimate  end  so  far  that  he  even  propounds  the  idea 
of  an  absolute  system   of  Ethics,  not  relating  to  the 
present    world  at  all,  but  rather  to  a  world  in  which 
The  adjustment  to  environment  shall  have  been  com- 
pletely brought  about.  3     Most  other  evolutionists  have 
repudiated  this  absolute  Ethics,  4  and  have  also  avoided 
the  statement   of  any  absolute  end  to  which  we  are 
moving.     Thus,  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  seems  to  content 

1  For  a  more  complete  discussion  of  Spencer's  doctrine,  see  Sor- 
,Jy^sEtH.Zf  Naturalise,  especially  pp.  203-..0,  AW-"^e7  .Mo../ 
Order  and  Progress,  pp.  ^V1.  Muirhead's  £to«.»fe  of  Emcs.jp. 
13(^159,  and  Dewey's  OuUines  of  Ethics,  pp.  67-78.  and  pp.  142-146- 

i  Data  of  Ethics,  pp.  3<M-5-  .     „.  .         ,  F/t.vc  n  2Sfi 

»SeeDr  Sidewick's  account  of  this,  Htstory  of  E*'"^.  P- ^S^- 
.  lee,7or  insfance.  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics.  p.430,  Alexanders 
Moral  Order  and  Progress,  p.  270. 

Eth.  ^° 


242 


ETHICS. 


[bk.  it.,  CH.  V. 


himself  with  the  idea  of  health  or  efficiency.      "  A  moral 
rule  is  a  statement   of  a   condition  of  social  welfare."  » 
Virtue  means  efficiency  with  a  view  to  the  maintenance 
of  social  equilibrium.  2     This  theory  does  not  require 
any  view  of  an  ultimate  end  to  which  society  is  mov- 
ing ;  but  simply  takes  society  as  it  finds  it,  and  regards 
its  preservation  and  equilibrium  as  the  end  to  be  aimed 
at.  3      Prof.    Alexander    adopts  a  view  which  is    sub- 
stantially the  same.     Thus  he  says/  ''An  act  or  person 
is  measured  by  a  certain  standard  or  criterion  of  con- 
duct,   which   has  been  called    the  moral  ideal.     This 
moral  ideal  is  an  adjusted   order  of  conduct,  which  is 
based  upon   contending    inclinations  and  establishes 
an  equilibrium  between    them.      Goodness  is  nothing 
but  this  adjustment  in   the  equilibrated   whole."     This 
view  of  Ethics  bears  a  close  relation  to  the  doctrine  of 
the  development  of  animal  life  which  was  set  forth  by 
Darwin.     According  to    Darwin's  view,    the  develop- 
ment  of  animal   species   takes   place  by    means  of  a 
' '  struggle  for  existence, "  in  which  ' '  the  fittest "  survive. 
This  process  is  commonly   referred  to  as  one  of  "nat- 
ural  selection.''     In  the  same   way,  the   view  of  Mr. 
Stephen  and  Prof.  Alexander  is  that  in   the  moral  life 
there   is   a  process  of  natural  selection    in  which   the 
most  efficient,  or  the  most  perfectly  equilibrated  type 
of  conduct   is    preserved.     The    connection    between 

1  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  450.  2  /^^v/.,  pp.  79-81,  &c. 

8  Cf.  the  statement  of  Mr.  Stephen's  theory  in  Sidgvvick's  History 
of  Ethics,  p.  257.  Of  course,  on  such  a  view,  any  actual  state  of 
society  is  regarded  as  being  only  partly  in  equilibrium  ;  and  the  end 
aimed  at  may  be  said  to  be  a  condition  of  perfect  equilibrium.  But 
the  writers  referred  to  do  not  attempt  to  give  any  positive  account  of 
what  would  be  involved  in  such  an  equilibrium. 

*  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  p.  399. 


§8-1 


THE   STANDARD   AS   PERFECTION.  243 


this  theory  and  that  of  Darwin  has  been  well  worked 
out  by  Prof.  Alexander  in  a  recent  article  on  ' '  Natural 
Selection  in  Morals  "  ■  ;  and  as  this  seems  to  me  to 
contain  perhaps  the  best  summary  statement  that  we 
have  in  English' of  the  attempt  to  explam  morality 
from  below,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  indicate  briefly 

its  general  scope  and  gist. 

8  8    Natural  Selection  in  Morals.-"  Natural  Selec- 
tion ''  says  Mr.  Alexander,'  "  is  a  name  for  the  process 
by  which  different  species  with  characteristic  structures 
contend  for  supremacy,  and  one  prevails  and  becomes 
relatively  permanent."     In  the  case  of  animal  life  the 
slrug^-le  is  primarily  one  between  different  indmdua  s 
or  se%  of  individuals,  some  of  which  die  out,  while 
the  ' '  more  fit "  survive.     It  is  not  exactly  so  m  morals. 
.'The  war  of  natural  selection  is  carried  on  m  human 
affairs  not  against  weaker  or  incompatible  individuals 
but  against  fheir  ideals  or  modes  of  life.     It  does  not 
suffer%ny  mode  of  life  to  prevail  or  Persist  but  one 
which   is    compatible   with   social    welfare.    *    What 
happens  in  the  animal  world  is  that  certain  individuals 
or  sets  of  individuals  happen  to  be  born  with  peculiar 
natural  gifts.     These  gifts  turn  out  to  be  such  as  make 
them  more  fit   to  survive  than   other  mdividuals  ;  and 
accordingly  they  do  survive,  and  transmit  their  char- 
acteristics to  their  descendants,  while  their  less  favoured 

.  Inkrnational  Journal  of  Ethics,  wol  ii.,No.  4  (July,  1882),  pp.  409- 
439.  C/IoP-f.  Alexanders  ^foral  Order  and  Progress,  Book  III., 
rhan  iv    where  the  same  point  is  brought  out. 

.  An  e^enmore  extreme  instance  of  an  attempt  to  explam  morality 
from  bdow,  and  on  very  similar  lines,  will  ^e found  ma  receiUO^^^^ 
man  work  entitled  EtnlcUuugin  die  Morahv^ssenscUaft  by  Dr.  Georg 

Simmel. 

3  Loc.  at.,  p  431.  '  ^^'^•'  P-  '^^^' 


/ 


244 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


rivals  die  out.  la  the  case  of  morals,  however,  we 
are  dealing-  "not  with  animals  as  such,  but  with 
minds."  ^  In  such  cases  "  we  have  something  of  the 
following  kind.  A  person  arises  (or  a  few  persons) 
whose  feelings,  modified  by  more  or  less  deliberate 
reflection,  incline  him  to  a  new  course  of  conduct. 
He  dislikes  cruelty  or  discourtesy,  or  he  objects  to  see- 
ing women  with  inferior  freedom,  or  to  the  unlimited 
opportunity  of  intoxication.  He  may  stand  alone  and 
with  only  a  few  friends  to  support  him.  His  proposal 
may  excite  ridicule  or  scorn  or  hatred  ;  and  if  he  is  a 
great  reformer,  he  may  endure  hardship  and  obloquy, 
or  even  death  at  the  hands  of  the  great  body  of  persons 
whom  he  offends.  By  degrees  his  ideas  spread  more 
and  more ;  people  discover  that  they  have  similar 
leanings  ;  they  are  persuaded  by  him ;  their  previous 
antagonism  to  him  is  replaced  by  attachment  to  the 
new  mode  of  conduct,  the  new  political  institution. 
The  new  ideas  gather  every  day  fresh  strength,  until 
at  last  they  occupy  the  minds  of  a  majority  of  persons, 
or  even  of  nearly  all."*  "Persuasion  and  education, 
in  fact,  without  destruction,  replace  here  the  process 
of  propagation  of  its  own  species  and  destruction  of 
the  rival  ones,  by  which  in  the  natural  world  species 
become  numerically  strong  and  persistent. "  "  Persua- 
sion corresponds  to  the  extermination  of  the  rivals"; 
for  ''the  victory  of  mind  over  mind  consists  in  persua- 
sion."^ Thus,  then,  the  origin  of  moral  ideals,  like  the 
origin  of  species,  is  to  be  explained  by  a  process  of  nat- 
ural selection. 

§  9.  Need   of    Teleology. — Now   there    can    be   no 


\ 


1  ibid.,  p.  42a 


?  Loc.  cit,  p.  414. 


«  Ibid.,  p.  42a 


§  9.]  THE   STANDARD   AS  PERFECTION.  245 

doubt  that  all  this  is  very  suggestive  and  instructive  ; 
K„t   if  it   is  to   be   taken    as  a  complete   account   01 
\   aZ    it  labours  under  a  fatal  defect.     It  is 
1'LT::  tura  k CTthe  growth  of  the  moral  life 
NoTtn'deahng  with  animal  l.e  -  -y  ^  -tent 

:r tTlVn:  "^e   tr riture   or  the 

Tpe    e     that  e,ist  and  that  have   existed,  and  the  c.r- 
species  in  ^^  ^^^^.^^  ^^  pg„sh. 

cumstances  that  have  lea  ^^^^  ^^^ 

We  are  not  "--^  f^^f/t  how  we  are  to  justify  the 
has  to  extirpate  the  woit,  or  survival  of  the 

extermination  of  the  -^^^^lo^^  t.Zl^ve  values 

.pe.  We  are  not  ^P-'f  f^;\*  ^f  %'„t  ^  is  just  with  the 
ofdifferentspec.es  of  animal  lite.  J 

question  of  value  ^hat Jthi^J    on  -  -'l^.  ^^  ^^  ^^„. 

ir errnre:n^£^^^^ 

I,-      ^K      "X  new  plcin  of   iiie,    ne  hay», 
ander  himself^        A  new  P  .  ^^^^^.^  j^  the 

not  made  good  because  't  succeeds  ^^ 

stamp,  the  ^.^pri^r   afBxed  to^  \^J,  ,£  ..^j.^ion 

'tSul  v^TuT-t  wl^  n  hels  askedwhat  it  is   then, 
is  of  little  v^lue  ,  lor  common  characteristic  • 

that  makes  it  good,  what  ,s   he  ^om  ^^^^^    . 

.•    ,.=  I  think  Mr.  Alexander  forgets  this. 
1  Loc.  at,  p.  418.    Sometimes  "hmk  Mr.  _..  ^^..,  .^ 

with  the  good.'" 


fj-K'a-w^'iift  ««n"'^'^ 


246 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


its  surroundings,  or,  as  I  should  prefer  to  say,  that  in 
the  conditions  in  which  it  is  placed  society  can  with 
this  ideal  so  live  that  no  part  of  it  shall  encroach  upon 
the  rest,  that  the  society  can  be  in  equilibrium  with 
itself."  *  But  why  should  we  desire  that  society  should 
be  in  equilibrium  with  itself?  What  is  it  that  makes 
this  condition  valuable  to  us.?  This  is  the  question 
which  we  are  forced  to  ask  ;  and  it  is  a  similar  question 
that  recurs  in  connection  with  the  view  of  Mr.  Spencer, 
and  with  all  similar  theories.  These  writers  answer 
questions  of  natural  history  instead  of  questions  of 
Ethics.^  What  they  say  may  throw  considerable  light 
on  the  way  in  which  the  moral  life  has  developed,  but 
does  not  answer  the  question — Why  are  we  to  choose 
that  life  ?  Why,  we  may  ask,  for  instance,  should  we 
not  seek  to  disturb  the  equilibrium  of  society,  instead 
of  promoting  it .?  The  answer  to  this  could  only  be 
given  by   showing   that   that    equilibrium    is  a  good. 

1  Ibid.,  p.  419.    Cf.  also  Prof.  Alexander's  article  on  "  The  Idea  of 
Value,"  in  Mind,  vol.  i.,  No.  1  (Jan.,  1892),  especially  pp.  44-48. 

'^  This  f)oint  is  very  fully  brought  out  in  Sorley's  Ethics  of  Natural- 
ism, Part  II.,  chap.  ix.  A  short  passage  may  here  be  quoted 
(pp.  270-1).  "A  man  might  quite  reasonably  ask  why  he  should 
adopt  as  maxims  of  conduct  the  laws  seen  to  operate  in  nature. 
The  end,  in  this  way,  is  not  made  to  follow  from  the  natural  function 
of  man.  It  is  simply  a  mode  in  which  the  events  of  the  world  occur ; 
and  we  must,  therefore,  give  a  reason  why  it  should  be  adopted  as 
his  end  by  the  individual  agent.  To  him  there  may  be  no  sufficient 
ground  of  inducement  to  become  'a  self-conscious  agent  in  the 
evolution  of  the  universe.'  From  the  purely  evolutionist  point  of 
view,  no  definite  attempt  has  been  made  to  solve  the  difficulty.  It 
seems  really  to  go  no  deeper  than  Dr.  Johnson's  reply  to  Boswell, 
w^hen  the  latter  plagued  him  to  give  a  reason  for  action  :  '  Sir,'  said 
he,  in  an  animated  tone,  *it  is  driving  on  the  system  of  life,'"  Cf. 
Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  p.  83,  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics, 
pp.  149-156. 


W 


I 


I  lol         THE  STANDARD  AS  PERFECTION.  247 

of  development  is  leading  to  someming 

I  „«n^_something  that  can  serve  as  an  ideal 
cognize  as  good-sM    g  ^^^^^   ^^,^ 

for  our  moral  naUire.     ^^  '^^  ^^^^  .,^^,  ,,,„  ^.ecomes 
may  slarl  from  tha    uleal^     1  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^ 

principle  of  explanation.  ■  ^^  ^^^ 

§10.  Explanation  -^ ^^-^^Zi\i  all  certain  that 
development  of  animal  life  .   i    not  ^^^^^^^^^, 

the  idea  of  t.^'-°?J^;;/,^  ^l  o^  evolution  there 

'"'' l'  7Z  tdeoty      The  -hole  life  of  animals  is 
,s  a  kmd  of  teleology.  f^^j  adjust- 

So  at  least  Emerson  thought— 

-  Striving  to  be  man,  the  worm  ^^ 

Mounts  through  all  the  spires  of  form. 
So  also  Aristotle  and  Hegel  thought.^     But   however 

.  This  seems  to  ^  the  -nt^^^-  ^^^^^  ^T^^,  '^t 
Huxley's  famous  Romanes  •!-« ""^^  'f ""  drawin«  an  unreal  anti- 
Prof.  Huxley  partly  obscures  he  r^-^f^^^^^,  activities  of  the 
t,esis  between  ^e  Processe    o^  -ture^an^_^,^  ^^^^^^^^^  ^^^^^^^^ 

ri'-  ^^^^  i---  -Sr;^-consistent)  to 
2  It  is  still  more  remarkable  (thougli  pernap^ 


248 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


this  may  be  with  regard  to  animal  life,  and  to  the  life 
of  nature  generally,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  we 
must  apply  teleological  ideas  in  Ethics.  Indeed,  as 
we  have  seen,  this  is  explicitly  stated  by  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer  himself.  But  if  this  is  the  case,  then  the  at- 
tempt to  explain  the  moral  life  from  behhid  cannot  be 
of  much  avail.  We  must  explain  it  rather  by  what 
lies  in  front  of  us,  by  the  ideal  or  end  that  we  have 
in  view.  How  this  may  be  done,  may  be  indicated 
by  a  brief  reference  to  the  work  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  those  thinkers  in  recent  times  who  have 
attempted  it— the  late  Professor  T.  H.  Green. 

§11.  Green's  View  of  Ethics. — Green's  doctrine  is 
stated  in  his  great  work  entitled  Prolegomena  /o  Ethics, 
probably  the  most  considerable  contribution  to  ethical 
science  that  has  been  made  in  England  during  the 
present  century.'  Green  taught  that  the  essential 
element  in  the  nature  of  man  is  the  rational  or  spiritual 
principle  within  him.  Man  has  appetite,  as  animals 
have,  and,  like  them,  he  has  sensations  and  mental 
images ;  but  these,  and  everything  else  in  man's 
nature,  are  modified  by  the  fact  that  he  has  reason. 
His  appetites  are  not  mere  appetites:  his  sensations 
are  not  mere  sensations.  In  his  appetites  there  is 
always  more  or  less  explicitly  present  the  conscious- 
ness of  an  end — /.  e.  they  are  desires  and  not  mere  appe- 
tites.^    In  his  sensations  there  is  always  more  or  less 

find  such  a  pronounced  materialist  as  Duhring  objecting  strongly 
to  the  Darwinian  attempt  to  explain  evolution  by  the  mere  struggle 
for  existence,  and  urging  the  adoption  of  a  more  teleological  view. 
See  his  Cursus  der  Philosophic,  II.  iii. 

'  The  account  of  Green's  doctrine  contained  in  Sidgwick's///j/<?rv 
of  Ethics  (pp.  259-260)  is  unhappily  very  inadequate. 

'  1  may  say  tiiat  Green  seems  to  me  to  exaggerate  the  extent  to 


I  II.]  THE   STANDARD   AS   PERFECTION.  249 

explicitly  present  the  element  of  ^--1^^^^;^:;:^;^ 
are  perceptions  and  not  mere  sensations      ^^^'^]^.^^^ 
to  the  fact  that  man  is  rational,  self-conscious,  spiritual. 
This  is  the  essential  fact  with  regard  to  -an  s  nature^ 
Green  points  out,  indeed,  that  even  in  animal  life,  and 
even  in  inanimate  nature,  we  must  assume  the  presence 
of  a  rational  principleHust  as  Mr.  Spencer  points  ou 
that  even  in  animal  life  there  is  present  the  principl    of 
adjustment.     But  in  nature  the  presence  of  this  prm- 
di"  is  implicit.     We  must  believe  that  it  is  there,  but 
is  concealed  or  imperfectly  manifested.     In  mantis 
explicit :  or,  at  any  rate,  it  is  becoming  explicit      And 
he  s  gnific^nce  of'the  moral  life  consists  in  the  con- 
stant  endeavour  to  make  this  principle  more  and  more 
explicit-to  bring  out  more  and  more  completely  our 
rational,  self-conscious,  spiritual  nature      How  exactly 
this  is  lo  be  done,   Green  admits,   it  is   not   easy  to 
answer,   just   because  our  rational  nature  is  not  yet 
completely  developed.     The   moral   life  is  to  be  ex- 

which  animal  appetites  are  transmuted  in  human  consciousness 
Perhaps  however,  my  own  statement  above  (Book  I.,  chap  1.,  §  3 ) 
TonS anexagg;rationonthe  opposite  side,  .^^^^^l^^^^^^^ 
point  here  is  that  the  essence  of  man  consists  m  his  ^^.^^^"^  7/^;^' 
noUn  anything  that  he  has  in  common  with  a  mere  animal  (if  there 
noiinaiiyuu  g  wh^t  ^v^ictlv  is  involved  in  the  consciousness 

is  any  mere  animal).    What  exactly  is  invuiycu 
of  the  higher  forms  of  animal  life,  is  a  difficult  question.    It  seems 
absurd  to  deny  them  perception.    It  is  hard  even  to  suppose  that 
ty  are^'hout  perceptual  images.    Else  how  does  the  ox  know 
his  master's  crib  ?    How  does  the  bird  construct  ^^s  nest  ?    There 
seems  to  be  involved  in  such  cases  not  only  -  ^PP-^f^^^^,^!  ^ 
object  before  them  but  an  anticipatory  image  of  what  ^  "o^^^^ 
And  indeed  this  seems  to  be  required  even  for  Darwin  s  earthworms 
^Vegetable  Mould,  chap.  ii.).    But  all  this  lies  beyond  our  P^J^^^t  ^^^; 
iect      Reference  may  be  made  to  Lloyd  Morgans  Amn>al  Ltje  ami 
Intelligence  (especially  chapter  ix.),  to  Wundt's  Human  and  Amma. 
Psychology,  pp.  350-366,  and  to  Stout's  Manuah  PP-  264-266. 


i 


250 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


plained  by  its  end  ;  but  as  we  have  not  reached  the 
end,  we  cannot,  in  any  complete  form,  give  the  ex- 
planation. Still,  we  can  to  a  considerable  extent  see 
in  what  way  our  rational  nature  has  been  so  far  de- 
veloped, and  in  what  direction  we  may  proceed  to 
develop  it  more  fully. 

This  is  a  brief  statement  of  Green's  point  of  view  ; 
and  it  certainly  appears  to  furnish  us  with  an  answer 
to  the  question  with  which  we  set  out — viz.  the  ques- 
tion how  we  are  to  determine  which  is  the  higher  and 
which  is  the  lower  among  our  universes  of  desire. 
Green's  answer  is— the  highest  universe  is  that  which  is 
most  completely  rational.  The  meaning  of  this,  how- 
ever, must  be  somewhat  more  fully  considered,  in 
relation  to  the  point  of  view  that  we  have  already  tried 
to  develop. 

§  12.  The  True  Self.— We  have  seen  that  there  are 
a  great  number  of  universes  within  which  a  man  may 
live.  In  some  of  these  men  live  only  for  moments  at 
a  time  :  in  others  they  live  habitually.  Some  of  them 
are  universes  within  which  no  abiding  satisfaction  can 
be  found.  The  universe  of  mere  animal  enjoyment 
is  of  this  nature.  Its  pleasures  soon  pall  upon  the 
appetite.  In  others  we  find  that  we  have  a  more  per- 
manent resting-place.  Now  the  nature  of  the  universe 
within  which  a  man  habitually  lives  constitutes,  as  w^e 
have  seen,  his  character  or  self.  If  he  chances  to  be 
led  into  some  other  universe  by  a  sudden  impulse 
or  unexpected  temptation,  the  man  scarcely  considers 
himself  to  be  responsible  for  his  actions  within  that 
universe.  He  says  that  he  was  not  himself  when  he 
acted  so.      He  was  not  within  his  own  universe. 

But  there  is  no  limited  universe  within  which  we  can 


t 


ft  12.]         THE  STANDARD  AS  PERFECTION.  2$  I 

find  permanent  satisfaction.  As  we  grow  older,  we  get 
crusted  over  with  habits,  and  go  on,  with  little  misgiv- 
ing within  the  universe  to  which  we  have  grown 
accustomed.  But  if  the  universe  is  an  imperfect  one. 
we  are  not  without  occasional  pricks  of  conscience- 
,-.  e.  we  sometimes  become  aware  of  a  higher  universe 
within  which  we  ought  to  be  living. 

•'  lust  when  we  are  safest,  there's  a  sunset-touch, 
A  fancy  from  a  flower-bell,  some  one's  death, 
A  chorus-ending  from  Euripides— 
And  that's  enough  for  fifty  hopes  and  fears, 
As  old  and  new  at  once  as  nature's  self. 
To  rap  and  knock  and  enter  in  our  soul. 
On  such  occasions  we  begin  to  feel  that  even  in  the  life 
that  we  ordinarily  live  we  are  not  ourselves.     There  is 
a  want  of  permanence  in  our  habitual  universe,  just  as 
there  is  in  those  into  which  we  find  ourselves  occa- 
sionally drifted  by  passion  and  impulse.     Just  as  ^^'e 
do  not  feel  satisfied  in  these,  but  escape  from  them 
as  rapidly  as  we   can,  and  declare  that  we  were  not 
ourselves  when  we  were  in  them  ;  so  we  beconrie  con- 
scious at  times  that  even  in  our  habitual  lives  there  is 
something  unsatisfying,  and  if  it  were  not  for  the  frost 
of  custom  we  would  make  our  escape  from  these  also, 
and  declare  that  in  them  also  we  are  not  ""^se'ves^ 
Where,  then,  is  the  universe  within  which  we  should 
find  an  abiding  satisfaction  >    What  is  the  true  self 

The  true  self  is  what  is  perhaps  best  described  as  the 
rational  self.  It  is  the  universe  that  we  occupy  m  our 
moments  of  deepest  wisdom  and  insight.  To  say  tuuy 
what  the  content  of  this  universe  is.  would  no  doubt 
as  Green  points  out.'  be  impossible.  The  content  ot 
1  Browning— Bisfco/>  Bloiigram's  Afohgy. 
■^  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  §  288,  p.  310. 


1, 


252 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


the  universe  of  rational  insight  is  as  wide  as  the  uni- 
verse of  actual  fact.  To  live  completely  in  that  uni- 
verse would  be  to  understand  completely  the  world  in 
which  we  live  and  our  relations  to  it,  and  to  act  con- 
stantly in  the  light  of  that  understanding.  This  we 
cannot  hope  to  do.  All  that  we  can  do  is  to  endeavour 
to  promote  this  understanding  more  and  more  in  our- 
selves and  others,  and  to  act  more  and  more  in  a  way 
that  is  consistent  with  the  promotion  of  this  understand- 
ing.    So  to  live  is  to  be  truly  ourselves.'' 

§  13.  The  Real  Meaning  of  Self-consistency. — From 
this  point  of  view  we  are  better  able  to  appreciate  the 
real  significance  of  the  Kantian  principle,  that  the 
supreme  law  of  morals  is  to  be  self-consistent.  This 
law,  as  we  pointed  out,  seemed  to  supply  us  with  a 
mere  form  without  matter.  It  is  not  so,  however,  if 
we  interpret  the  statement  to  mean  not  merely  that  we 
are  to  be  self-consistent ^  but  that  we  are  to  be  consistent 
with  the  self—i.  e.  with  the  true  self.  For  this  principle* 
has  a  content,  though  the  content  is  not  altogether  easy 
to  discover.  Kant's  error,  we  may  say,  consisted  in 
this,  that  he  understood  the  term  Reason  in  a  purely 
abstract  way.  He  opposed  it  to  all  the  particular  con- 
tent of  our  desires;  whereas,  in  reality,  reason  is  rela- 
tive to  the  whole  world  which  it  interprets.  The  uni- 
verse of  rational  insight  is  the  universe  in  which  the 
whole  world — including  all  our  desires — appears  in  its 
true  relations.     To  occupy  tfre^oint  of  view  of  reason, 

1  For  some  criticisms  on  the  idea  of  self-realization,  see  the  valu- 
able article  by  Mr.  A.  E.  Taylor  in  the  International  Journal  of 
Ethics,  Vol.  VI.,  no.  3.  Mr.  Taylor's  objections  do  not  seem,  how- 
ever, to  bear  upon  the  theory  as  explained  above  and  as  developed 
in  the  following  Book. 


■^ 


§  ,4.]         THE  STANDARD   AS  PERFECTION.  253 

.u      f.r.   is  not  to  withdraw  from  all  our  desires,  and 
therefore   IS  not  to  ^^^^  ^^^^^^  self-cons.st- 

occupy   he  PO-t  °f  V  ^^^  ^^^.^^^  .^^  ^^^.^  ^.g,^ 

ency  ;  it  is  rather  to  pi  5^^,35  of  rational  in- 

^StluXr  ^    whS^;ey  can  all  enter   and 
ifwhTc:  t^y  all  find  their  true  places.  ^  ^^^^ 

TsC^  T'hVran?rg  oi  U  .^,  it  is  hoped,  become 
-,T^TZ1  S::r  rH™s._Just  as  we 

the  "t^g°"^teTble  to  understand  more  fully  the  true 
oueht  now  to  be  aoie  tu  ui*^  ^rrnr 

significance  of  the  principle  of  happiness.     The  e  ror 
hfthe  conception  ofhappmess,  as  formerly  interpreted, 
L  in  its  behiK  thought  of  simply  as  the  grat.ficafon 
of^ehin^     desire:  or  of  the  greatest  possible  sum 
o   desire        We  now  see  that  the  end  is  to  be  found 
rItE   n  the  systematisation   of  desire.     Now  happi- 
ness  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  as  distmgu.shed 
?rom  transient  pleasures,  consists  just  n.  theconsc.ous- 
neTsofthe  realisation  of  such  a  systematic  conten 
It  is  the  form  of  feeling  which  accompanies  the  har 
m^nlous  adjustment  of  the  various  elenien^  -  «« 
lives  within  an  ideal  unity.     Happiness,  therefore   m 

this  sense,  though  not,  P-P- ^  ^P^'^'"^' ,f  f  ,  "1ft 
which  we  aim,  is  an  inseparable  and  essential  element 

in  its  attainment. '  „  „„,„ 

§  15.  Transition  to  Applied  Ethics. -We  have  now 

1  It  is  in  this  sense,  as  Spinoza  3ay^..*^'.,"';^f '"tin's" 
is  not  the  reward  of  virtue,  but  virtue  itself,  -..  c,  .t  is  an  essen 
aspect  in  the  attainment  of  the  right  point  of  view. 


if 


254 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  V. 


§    I-l 


THE   MORAL   STMSDARU. 


255 


seen,  in  a  general  way,  what  the  nature  of  the  moral 
Ideal  is,  and  how  the  various  imperfect  conceptions  of 
this  ideal  find  their  place  within  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  one.     We  now  see,  in  short,  at  least  in   some  de- 
gree, what  is  the  true  significance  of  the  ethical  ought. 
We  see  that,  if  it  is  to  be  described  as  an  ''imperative" 
at  all,  it  is  at  least  not  to  be  thought  of,  as  it  is  apt  at 
first  to  be,  as  a  command  imposed  upon  us  from  with- 
out.     It  is  rather  to  be  regarded  as  the  voice  of  the  true 
self  within   us,  passing  judgment  upon   the  self  as  it 
appears  m  its  incomplete  development.     Conscience 
from  this  point  of  view,  may  be  said  to  be  simply  the 
sense  that  we  are  not  ourselves  ;  and  the  voice  of  duty 
IS  the  voice  that  says,    -To  thine  own  self  be  true." 

But  statements  of  this  sort  are  still  apt  to  seem  rather 
empty  and  unmeaning,  unless  we  can  bring  them  into 
some  sort  of  relationship  to  the  concrete  content  of 
life.     Accordingly,  what  we  have  now  to  do  is  to  con- 
sider the  way  in  which  the  concrete  moral  life  may  be 
interpreted  in  the  light  of  the  general   principle  which 
has  now  been  laid  down.     This,  of  course,  can  only 
be  done  in  such  a  book  as  this,  in  the   most  cursory 
and  superficial  fashion.      But  some   indication   of  the 
kind  of  way  in  which  it  would  have  to  be  done  in  a 
more  comprehensive  work,  may  at  least  be  found  sug- 
gestive and  helpful.     Before  we  proceed  to  this,  how- 
ever, it  is  necessary  to  consider  the  exact  sense  in  which 
ethical  principles  are  capable  of  application  to  the  con- 
tent of  the  practical    life.     This  is  the  subject   of  the 
following  chapter. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    AUTHORITY    OF   THE    MORAL    STANDARD. 

.1    The    General    Problem    of    Authority.- -In 
JiJn" ,..».».  or  ,he  ~r.,  '^^^^^'^'Z 

had   to   deal    incidental  y    with    ^J     ;ha  acte^^^^^^      .^ 

r"f  J  if  BuTf  :2™r  d"r  n„. .» .^ 

claimed   tor  u.     a^""-  »      ^^u      moral 

standard  ,s  one  ^"--^f^^^^  ^^^^  ,,^  ,,thority  must 
the  human  will.  U  >«  ^;^^;";  unquestionable ;  and 
be  recognized  as  supreme  ^"'^  "  \  j^^^  to  be 
we  have  accordingly  already  ^^1'  J-^f  ^^  „„,^, 
justified  in  crUicizing  "^^  ™  J^  ^Ide^uate 
standard  on  the  ground  that  t^ey  P  involved 

n^otive  for  obedience  to  the  V^^^?^-^^^  ^^  ^^^  ,j,, 
in  it.     This  defect  appears,  for  'f '^"^^'  "i    , .    ;„^^ 

.hich  rests  ^frz:::tz  ?o 'd  -  - 

'"'   T:     atfficfen'  ground  for  voluntary  obedience, 
accepted  as  a  sufficient  groun  ^ 

The  same  defect  appears,  m  a  s°"^^*';'  ^f 

i„  the  theory  that  appea^  ^'1^^^'^^^   '^^ 
evolution  ;    since   it   is    of   the   very   cs  ^^.^..^i 

„oral  life  to  oppose  itself,  if  necessary   to  the-tu.al 
tendencies  of  things.     The  consideration  of  such  ob 

jections,  however,  leads  us  ^^^^^  -^^:^^tZ 
what  is  the  nature  of  the  autnoniy  ou 
principles  must  be  based. 


'j 


256 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI. 


§  2.  Different    Kinds  of    Authority. — In  dealing 
with  this  subject,  it  may  be  convenient  to  recur  to  the 
distinction   that   has   already  been  drawn    between    is^ 
musty  and  ought.     A  certain  kind  of  authority  may  be 
said  to  lie  in  each.     Even  in  an  "is"  there  is  often  a 
compelling  power.     '^  Facts  "  are  said  to  be  *^  stubborn 
things."     Carlyle  was  particularly  fond  of  emphasizing 
the   absurdity    of  contending    against    actualities.      It 
would    be    futile   for   human    beings   to   endeavour    to 
train  themselves   to  walk   constantly  on   their  heads; 
and  many  other  actions,  not  on  a  surface  view  quite  so 
absurd,  may  be  equally  impossible.     If  a  man  offends 
persistently  against  the  general  conditions  of  health, 
his  sin   is   sure  to  find  him   out ;    and   such   sin   may 
be  described    as  a   failure    to    recognize    the    existing 
circumstances.     But  even  in  such  instances  the  com- 
pelling power  is  perhaps  more  properly  to  be  described 
as  a  "must"  than  as  a  simple  "is."     We  do  not  in 
such  instances  perform  actions,  or  abstain  from  actions, 
in  mere  obedience  to  a  natural  tendency,  as  a  stone 
falls  to  the  ground,  or  as  an  animal  follows  its  instincts. 
Rather  we  do  or  abstain,   in  general,  with  a  certain 
foresight  of  the  inconvenient  consequences  that  would 
otherwise  result.     We  recognise  that  we  must  or  that 
we    must  not.     We  do  not  simply  feel    impelled.     A 
better  illustration  of  the  operation  of  the  simple  "  is  " 
in  human  action  might  be  found  in  certain  conventional 
practices — in  rules  of  fashion,   local   customs,    profes- 
sional etiquette,  and  the  like.     The  "  correct  thing  "  in 
such  cases  means  little  more  than  what  the  "  compact 
majority "  does.     Particular  people  follow  the  custom, 
as  a  sheep  follows  its  leader.     They  do  things  simply 


Hi 


§  2.] 


THE   MORAL  STANDARD. 


257 


because  they  are  done.     But  even  in  such  cases  1    is 
probable  that  there  is  nearly  always  a  more  or  less 
explicit  consciousness  of  some  ground  for  the  action. 
It  is  done,  it  may  be,  from  fear  of  publ.c  opm.on,  or 
from  a  conviction  that  eccentricity  is  undesirable.     In 
he  former  case  there  is  a  "  must,"  in  the  latter  an 
"ought"     On  the  whole,  a   careful   consideration    o 
such   cases   seems   to   show   that,   in   all   action   that 
is  distinctively  human  (as  opposed  to  animal  impulse 
or  instinct),  one  or  other  of  these  (a     must      or  an 
"  ought ")  is  the  compelling  force. 

Now,  taking  the  "must"  and  the  "ought"  as  the 
two  great  moving  forces  in  human  action,  there  might 
be  sfme  convenience  in  limiting  the  use  of  the  term 
"authority,"  at  least  in  its  ethical  appl'.cation    to    he 
latter      It  is  in  this  sense  that  the  term  is  chiefly  used 
by  Bishop  Butler,  who   has   perhaps  done  more  than 
any  one  else  to  give   it   a   clear  meaning  in   ethica 
literature."     But  we  must  remember  that  the  term  is 
also  commonly  used  with  reference    o  the      is     and 
the  "must,"  as  well   as  the  "ought."     An  appeal  to 
"authority"    means    sometimes    simply   an    appeal   to 
the   majority   of  views   that  have  been  expressed  on 
a  particular  point;  though  even  in  this  case  there  is 
generally  an  implied  conviction  that  the  people  whose 
Slews  are  referred  to  have  some  claim  to  be  heard, 
that  there  are  reasons  why  their  opinions  ought    o  be 
accepted  as  the  most  correct,  or  as  the  most  likely 
to  be  correct,  and  that,  if  their  views  diverge,  they 
should  be  weighed  as  well  as  counted.     Again,  in  law 
.  Butler's  second  Sermon  may  be  referred  to  as  the  locus  classicus  on 

this  point. 

Eth.  ^7 


1 


258 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI. 


§4.] 


THE   MORAL   STANDARD. 


259 


and  politics,  the  "authority"  for  an  action  may  simply 
refer  to  the  force  by  which  it  is  accompanied,  or  the 
penalties  which  can  be  inflicted  in  connection  with  it. 
But  even  legal  and  political  powers  are  seldom  regarded 
as  authoritative  without  some  degree  of  conviction  that 
they  represent,  on  the  whole,  justice  as  well  as  might. 
In  strictly  moral  matters,  at  any  rate,  it  seems  clear 
that  we  cannot  recognize  any  authority  that  is  merely 
of  the  nature  of  force.  But  the  more  fully  this  is 
recognized,  the  more  urgent  does  it  become  to  ascertain 
the  exact  nature  of  the  binding  power  that  is  contained 
in  the  moral  standard. 

§  3.  Various  Views  of  Moral  Authority. — We 
have  already  noticed  the  chief  theories  of  the  moral 
standard,  and,  in  doing  so,  we  have  incidentally  seen 
what  is  the  kind  of  authority  that  is  claimed  by  each. 
But  we  must  now  proceed  to  consider  the  different 
views  on  this  particular  point  more  definitely. 

Broadly  speaking,  we  may  say  that  the  authority 
claimed  for  the  moral  standard  is  either  that  of  an 
external  law,  that  of  an  inner  law,  or  that  which  is 
contained  in  the  idea  of  an  end.  The  first  is  seen 
in  views  that  refer  us  to  a  law  of  God,  a  law  of  Nature, 
or  a  law  of  some  political  or  social  power.  The  second 
appears  in  the  doctrine  of  a  law  of  conscience  or  reason. 
The  third  is  found  in  the  various  doctrines  that  set  up 
some  form  of  pleasure  or  perfection  as  the  end  of  action. 
But  the  nature  of  the  authority  does  not  always  cor- 
respond to  the  nature  of  the  standard.  It  is  possible 
to  maintain  that  the  criterion  of  right  is  of  one  kind, 
while  the  power  that  binds  us  to  its  pursuit  is  of 
another.     Thus,   Paley  regarded  pleasure  as   the  end 


p- 


of  action,  but  set  up  the  will  of  God  as  the  supreme 
authority  for  its  pursuit.  And  Utilitarians  in  general 
distinguish  the  ultimate  end  from  the  sanctions  which 
bind  us  to  follow  it.  Similar  divergences  may  also  be 
found,  though  perhaps  in  a  less  degree,  in  some  other 
schools.  Thus,  Shaftesbury  appears  to  have  taken  the 
well-being  of  society  as  the  end,  but  the  "  moral  sense  " 
as  the  authority.  Accordingly,  it  seems  worth  while 
at  this  point  to  consider  the  different  theories  of 
authority  a  little  more   in  detail. 

§  4.  The  Authority  of  Law.— We  have  already  in- 
dicated the  chief  stages  in  the  growth  of  the  view  which 
rests  the  authority  of  the  moral  principle  on  some  form 
ot  external  law — a  view  which  has  not  much   support 
from  ethical  theory,  but  a  great  deal  from  popular  con- 
viction.    We  have  traced  the  growth  from   customary 
obligation,  through   state  law,   to   the  law  of  a  divine 
commandment.       But    there   is   probably    no    type    of 
ethical  theory  in  modern  times  that  would  seek  to  rest 
moral  authority  exclusively  on  any  such  external  sources. 
There  have,  however,  been  several  attempts  in  modern 
ethics,  and  especially  in  modern  English  ethics,  to  rest 
moral  obligation  to  a  large  extent  upon  a  legal  basis. 
In  recent  times  this  tendency  has  been  specially  charac- 
teristic of  the  Utilitarian  school,  with  whom  the  so-called 
"Sanctions"  of  morality  have  played  a  very  important 
part.     These  Sanctions,  whether  in  the  rudimentary 
form  conceived  by  Paley,  or  in  the  more  elaborate  form 
set  forth  by  Bentham  and    Mill,  are   external    forces, 
carrying  an    authority  of  that    non-moral  kind  which 
we    have   characterised    as   a    "must."     Some    special 
consideration  of  these  will  here  be  in  place. 


26o 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI. 


§  6.  The  Sanctions  of  Morality. — This  term  has 
been    introduced    into    Ethics    in    consequence    of  the 
strongly  jural  way  in  which  the  subject  has  frequently 
been  treated.^     A  sanction  means  primarily  a  ratifica- 
tion.^    Hence   it   comes   to   be  applied   to   that    which 
ratifies  or  gives  force  to  the  laws  of  a  state — i.e.  the 
punishment  attached  to  their  violation.     The  meaning 
of  the  term  has  been  extended,  chiefly  by  Utilitarian 
writers,  to  anything  that  gives  force  to  the  laws  of 
Duty — t.e.  to  the  motives  by  which  men    are  induced 
to  fulfil  their  obligations.     According  to  the  Utilitarian 
writers,   the  only  motives  are  fear  of  pain  and  hope 
of  pleasure.     And  the  pains  and  pleasures  may  present 
themselves    in    a  variety    of  forms.      Thus,    there    is 
frequently  a   physical   pain   as    a   consequence    of  the 
violation  of  Duty.     Again,  there  are  the  pains  of  social 
disapproval,   and   the  pleasures  of  the  approbation  of 
our  fellow-men.     The  pains  of  Hell  and  the  pleasures 
of   Heaven    have    also,    at    certain    periods   of   human 
history,  provided  motives  to  right  conduct.      Now,  if 
the  view  of  Ethics  indicated  in  the  present  handbook 
is  to  be  accepted,  all  this  is  not  of  much  ethical  im- 
portance.    The   right   motive   to  good   conduct  is  the 
desire  to  realize  the  highest  end  of  human  life ;  ^  and 

•  Cf.  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  8-IO. 

^  E.g.  "  The  Pragmatic  Sanction."  It  is  derived  from  the  Latin 
sanctio,  and  means  primarily  ''the  act  of  binding,"  or  "that  which 
serves  to  bind  a  man."  Cf.  Bentham's  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legis- 
lation, chn.p.  iii.,  note  to  §  ii. 

'  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  repeat  that  this  motive  need  not  be 
consciously  present.  (C/.  above,  p.  197.)  In  a  particular  good  action 
the  motive  is  as  a  rule  simply  the  interest  in  some  particular  good 
to  be  achieved.      But   the   ultimate  justification  of  our  interest  in  a 


I 


pA 


S 


§  5-] 


THE   MORAL  STANDARD. 


261 


what  this  is  we  have  already  seen.  That  we  may  be 
moved  to  act  rightly  in  other  ways  is  a  fact  rather 
of  psychological,  historical,  or  sociological,  than  ot 
strictly  ethical  interest.  It  is  also,  no  doubt,  a  fact 
of  some  importance  for  jurisprudence,  education,  and 
practical  politics.  Since,  however,  the  consideration 
of  these  external  motives  plays  a  prominent  part  in 
the  Utilitarian  theory  of  morals,  some  further  remarks 
on  this  point  seem  to  be  called  for. 

If  the  theory  of  Universalistic  Hedonism  is  accepted, 
and  if  this  theory  is  made  to  rest   on  the  basis  oi 
Psychological  Hedonism,  it  becomes  important  to  con- 
sider the  motives  by  which  the  individual  is  led  to  seek 
the  general  happiness.     His  primary  desire,  according 
to  this  view,  is  for  his  own  greatest  happiness ;  and  he 
can  be  induced  to  seek  the  general  happiness  only  by 
being  led  to  see  that  the  conduct  which  leads  to     the 
greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number"  is  m  the 
fong  run  identical  with   that  which  leads  to  his  own 
greatest  happiness.     Now  it  is  chiefly  by  means  of  the 
Sanctions  that  this  identity  is  shown.     As  Bentham 
puts  it,^  the  general  happiness  is  the  final  cause  of 
human  action  ;   but  the  efficient  cause  for  any  given 
individual  is  the  anticipation  of  his  own  pleasure  or 

particular  good  consists  in  the  fact  that  it  is  an  element  in  tlie  general 
goo<l ;  and  our  interest  in  a  particular  good  requires  frequently  to  be 
modified  and  corrected  by  reference  to  this.  ..,„;„„ 

'  Sanctions,  as  already  noted  (above,  p.  312).  "^  of  use  as  helping 
to  form  habits  of  gow"  willing  and  good  conduct;  though  this  use 
of  them  should  be  gradually  decreased  tHl  the  necessity  for  them 
disappears       Q.   Miss  Gilliland's  paper  on  "  Pleasure  and  Pam  m 

Education,"  pp.  301-3. 

'  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation,  chap.  111. 


262 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI. 


pain.  "The  happiness  of  the  individuals,  of  whom  a 
community  is  composed,  that  is,  their  pleasures  and 
their  security,'  is  the  end  and  the  sole  end  which  the 
legislator  ought  to  have  in  view ;  the  sole  standard, 
in  conformity  to  which  each  individual  ought,  as 
far  as  depends  upon  the  legislator,  to  be  made  to 
fashion  his  behaviour.  But  whether  it  be  this  or 
anything  else  that  is  to  be  done,  there  is  nothing 
by  which  a  man  can  ultimately  be  made  to  do  it, 
but  either  pain  or  pleasure."  Accordingly,  Bentham 
proceeds  to  enumerate  the  various  kinds  of  pain 
and  pleasure  which  may  be  made  to  serve  as  motives 
to  the  adoption  of  those  forms  of  conduct  which  it 
is  desirable,  with  a  view  to  the  general  happiness, 
that  men  should  be  induced  to  follow.  These  various 
kinds    of  pain   and   pleasure    are   what   he   calls   the 

Sanctions. 

Bentham  enumerates '  four  classes  of  such  Sanctions, 
which  he  calls  the  physical,  the  political,  the  moral,  and 
the  religious.  If  the  pleasure  or  pain  comes  simply  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  and  is  not  attached  to 
our  actions  by  the  will  of  any  individual,  such  a  source 
of  motives  is  called  a  physical  sanction.  The  pains 
following  from   drunkenness  are  an   example.     It,  on 

'  Bentham  does  not,  ot  course,  mean  that  the  principle  of  security 
is  to  be  regarded  as  an  independent  end  in  addition  to  pleasure.  He 
only  mentions  it  as  the  indispensable  condition  of  the  certainty,  dura- 
tion, and  fecundity  of  our  pleasures.  Cf.  his  Principles  of  the  Civil 
Code,  Part  II..  chap.  vii.  Of  all  the  principles  subordmate  to  utdity, 
there  was  none  to  which  he  attached  so  much  importance  as  to  that 

of  security.  ,        ^/-    i       n  -      j.! 

2  Principles  of  Morals  ami  Legislation,  chap.  ni.  Cf  also  Principle:, 
of  Legislation,  chhp.  vii.,  and  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,^^^.  240-245. 


§5.] 


THE   MORAL  STANDARD. 


263 


the  other  hand,  the  pleasure  or  pain  is  attached  to  an 
actioTby  the  ;ill  of  a  sovereign  ruler  or  government 
•t    s   called   a  political   sanction ;    as   in   the   case   of 
ord  nary  judicial^uni^  If  it  is  attached  to  an 

a  tion  by   the  will  of  individuals  who   are   not  in  a 
.0  kL  of  authority,  it   is  called  a  moral  {popular) 
Lnction;   as  when  a  man  is  '^boycotted"  or  ^'loses 
aste  "     Finally,  if  it  is  attached  to  an  action  by  the 
wTof  a  supernatural  power,  it  is  called  a  rehgwus 
ranctl     as'n  the  case  of  Heaven  and  Hell  or  of  the 
penal tes  inflicted  by  the  Roman  Catholic   Church  as 
?he  representative  of  the  Divine  will  on  earth.     It  may 
be    worth   while    to   give    Bentham's    own   examples. 
''  A  man's  goods,  or  his  person,  are  consumed  by  fire 
If  thrs  happened  to  him  by  what  is  called  an  accident, 
was  a  caLity :  ^  if  by  reason  of  his  own  imprudence 
ffor  instance,  from  his  neglecting  to  put  his  candle  out), 
t  m  y  be  st;ied  a  punishment  of  the  physical  sanction  ; 
"t  happened  to  him  by  the  sentence  of  the  po  itica 
maUtrate,    a   punishment   belonging   to    the   political 
rancUon    ihat  is,  what  is  commonly  called  a  punish- 
ment .  if  for  want  of  any  assistance  which  ).^s  neighbour 
withheld  from  him  out  of  some  dislike  to  his  moral 
character,  a  punishment  of  the  moral  sanction  :  if  by 
an    immediate    act    of   God^s    displeasure,    manifested 
on  account  of  some  sin  committed  by  him,  or  through 
any   distraction    of    mind,    occasioned    by    the    dread 

•  Principles  oj  Morals  and  Legislation,  chap,  iii.,  §  jx. 

Mn  this  case  of  course,  it  is  not  a  sanction  at  all;  smce  it  is  not 
regarded  as  "tt:^  of  any 'particular  kind  of  conduct,  -d  -.^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
does  not  serve  as  an  inducement  to  the  avoidance  of  any  particular 
kind  of  conduct.  • 


•*% 


264 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI- 


§6.] 


THE  MORAL  STANDARD. 


265 


of  such    displeasure,    a    punishment   of  the    rehgious 

sanction." 

J.  S.  Mill  accepted  all  these  sanctions,  but  character- 
ized them  all  as  "external";  and  held  that  we  ought  to 
recognize,  in  addition  to  them,  the  "  internal "  sanction 
of  Conscience — i.e,  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  the  moral 
sentiments.^  All  the  other  sanctions  are  to  a  large 
extent  "  physical."  Indeed,  Bentham  himself  says  :  ^ 
"Of  these  four  sanctions  the  physical  is  altogether, 
we  may  observe,  the  groundwork  of  the  political  and 
the  moral ;  so  is  it  also  of  the  religious,  in  as  far  as  the 
latter  bears  relation  to  the  present  life.  It  is  included 
in  each  of  those  other  three.  This^  may  operate  in  any 
case  (that  is,  any  of  the  pains  or  pleasures  belonging 
to  it  may  operate)  independently  of  tJicm  * :  none  of 
them  can  operate  but  by  means  of  this.  In  a  word, 
the  powers  of  nature  may  operate  of  themselves ;  but 
neither  the  magistrate,  nor  men  at  large,^  can  operate, 
nor  is  God  in  the  case  in  question  supposed  to  operate, 
but  through  the  powers  of  nature."  What  Mill  calls 
the  "  internal "  sanction,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not 
rest  on  physical  conditions,  but  is  purely  psychological 
or  subjective;    though  the   particular  way  in  which  it 

'  Utilitarianism,  chap,  iii.,  p.  41  sqq. 

-  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation^  chap,  iii.,  §  xi. 

"^  The  physical  sanction. 

*  The  other  three  sanctions. 

^  It  might  be  urged  that  the  moral  sanction  sometimes  takes  the 
form  simply  of  an  expression  of  opinion.  The  fear  of  adverse  public 
opinion  is  often  one  of  the  strongest  forms  of  this  sanction.  But  1 
suppose  Bentham  would  say  that  even  in  this  case  the  expression  of 
the  opinion  takes  place  **  through  the  powers  of  nature,"  viz:  through 
vibrations  of  sound  or  light. 


is  developed   is,  no  doubt,   affected   by   the   external 
environment  in  which  our  lives  are  passed_ 

Though  this  sanction   is   d.st.ngmshed  by  M.U  as 
..  internal,"  yet,  in  a  sense,  it  is  just  as  external  as^he 
others      All  may  be  called  internal,  smce  all  mvolve 
^e  subjective  experience  of  pain,  actual  or  prospective 
On  the  other  hand,  all  are  external,  in  the  sense  that 
S  pain  is  connected  with    some   law  not   defi^,,tely 
recognised  as  the  law  of  our  own  bemg.     If,  however, 
ConSence  is  definitely  regarded  as  the  law  of  our 
natueTt    ceases   to    be   merely    of  the    nature    of  a 
Lr^n,  and  becomes  a  real  moral  -bon ty^    It  .s 
in   this   way   that    it   is    conceived,    for   instance,    Dy 

^'te'  Th"e  AuTHOKiTV  o.  Co.scK.cK.-Thc  force  of 
conscience,  from  Mill's  point  of  view,  lies  simply  as 
we  have  een,  in  its  sting,  in  its  power  o  makmg 
Uself  a  nuisank     The  Intuitionists,  on  the  other  hand, 

.;„„«•'     We  thus  partly  anticipated  Mill-     »ut  mere  is  ■  " 
sanctions.       He  tnus  pa    /  v  ,    ,       ijings.    The  reason  is 

recognition  of  these  sanctions  in  his  P^^^^^Yd  'for  such  sympathetic 
prolTably  that  Bentham  had  ^ ^^^^^^^^^^.^l^Zu  l^Le^ula- 
and  antipathetic  sentiments.     See  his  J^rmcipie    j 

lion,  chap,  ii.,  §  xi,  note  ^„.i:„ns  will  be  found  in  Fowlers 

^  An  excellent  account  of  ."-Sanctions  w  ^^^^^^^^^ 

i,        ,!  .f  iL  pp  .0-4.    It  should  be  observed  that  the  use  of 
Elemmts  of  Etna,  pp.  lo    4  Sanction  is  sometimes 

terms  seems  preferable  to  Bentham's. 


266 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CII.  VI. 


represent  conscience,  in  general,  as  having  an  authority 
which  is  independent  of  any  such  power.  The  attitude 
of  Butler  on  this  point  is  particularly  striking.  As  we 
have  already  seen,  he  represents  man's  nature  as  a  con- 
stitution, in  which  conscience  is  the  supreme  authority. 
"  Thus  that  principle,"  he  says,^  ''  by  which  we  survey, 
and  either  approve  or  disapprove  our  own  heart, 
temper  and  actions,  is  not  only  to  be  considered  as 
what  is  in  its  turn  to  have  some  influence — which  may 
be  said  of  every  passion,  of  the  lowest  appetites — but 
likewise  as  being  superior,  as  from  its  very  nature 
manifestly  claiming  superiority  over  all  others,  inso- 
much as  you  cannot  form  a  notion  of  this  faculty, 
conscience,  without  taking  in  judgment,  direction, 
superintendency.  This  is  a  constituent  part  of  the 
idea,  that  is,  of  the  faculty  itself;  and  to  preside  and 
govern,  from  the  very  economy  and  constitution  of 
man,  belongs  to  it.  Had  it  strength  as  it  has  right, 
had  it  power  as  it  has  manifest  authority,  it  would 
absolutely  govern  the  world."  "But  allowing,"  he 
I  says  again,^  "that  mankind  hath  the  rule  of  right 
within  himself,  yet  it  may  be  asked,  *What  obligations 
are  we  under  to  attend  to  and  follow  it  ?  '  I  answer : 
it  has  been  proved  that  man  by  his  nature  is  a  law  to 
himself,  without  the  particular  distinct  consideration  of 
the  positive  sanctions  of  that  law;  the  rewards  and 
punishments  which  we  feel,  and  those  which  from  the 
light  of  reason  we  have  ground  to  believe,  are  annexed 
I  to  it.  The  question  then  carries  its  own  answer  along 
with  it.  Your  obligation  to  obey  this  law  is  its  being 
the  law  of  your  nature.    That  your  conscience  approves 

•  Sermon  II.  "^  Sermon  III. 


§6.] 


THE   MORAL  STANDARD. 


267 


„  .„.  a»...  .0  such  =,  CO.,,.  o.  .c,io.  i.  i.».r  a;on. 

nature  of  the  authm   y  ^^  .^  ^.^^^^^  ^^^^^^^^^ 

sible  to  g.ve  -y  c  e-  ac       ^^  ^.^^^^^_  .^  ^^^,j„ 

to  the  idea  of  an  ena.  compares  it  with 

^^''''l^: :Z^.1o  'reaony self-love"     "Sup- 
that  which  belongs  to  _^  ^^.^  ^^  ^ 

pose  a  b7'\"-:;r',y':hi The  ^  destroyed.     He 
allured  mo  a  snare    by  ^^^^^^  ^^  ,^ 

plainly  followed  the  bent  .^^respondence 

gratify  his  appetite     there-  ^^  ^^^^^      ^^^^ 

between  his  whole  nature  an  ^^^^_ 

action  therefore  i^  natural  _  B^    -ppos      ^^^^^^  ^^^^ 

seeing  the  same  ^^^f  ^°Jj„tg "tilat'ion,  he  in  this 

ir^eature:  but  there  would  be  a^J-fest^^^  -„ 
proportion  between  the   nature  °  ^^  ^^^      ^^^.^^ 

action,  -/^'7f";'^,rf?om  considering  the  action 
disproportion  arises    not  ^  ^^^  ,^.^^  ,,„, 

singly  -n  ;f /'^  J-^^;"^  ;;,„re  of  the  agent.     And  since 
panson  of  it  ^^'.'^^^  "%jg_,oportionate  to  the  nature 
such  an  action  is  utterly  d»spr°po 
of  man,  it  is  in  the  strictest  and  'Jo  '  P™f        j„„ 

•.,^^::  have^  clear  conception  of  the  J^- 
nature  of  one  inward  principle  to  another  , 


268 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI. 


there  really  is  this  natural  superiority,  quite  distinct 
from  degrees  of  strength  and  prevalency."  But  it 
seems  clear  that  the  authority  which  is  claimed  for 
reasonable  self-love  in  this  instance  rests  on  the  idea 
of  an  end.  It  would  be  unnatural  for  us  simply  to 
follow  our  appetites  and  instincts,  like  brute  beasts, 
because  we  have  definite  ideas  of  ends  that  we  pursue, 
and  know  the  means  that  may  be  expected  to  secure 
them.  If  the  authority  of  conscience  is  of  this  nature,  it 
is  not  the  authority  of  a  blind  faculty,  but  the  authority 
of  reason  itself.  This  view  is  not  definitely  brought 
out  by  Butler,  but  appears  quite  distinctly  in  Kant. 

§  7.  The  Authority  of  Reason.— Kant  is  the  writer 
who  has  most  explicitly  accepted  reason  as  the  only 
ultimate  authority  in  the  moral  life,  and  in  this  he  has 
been  followed  by  the  school  of  modern  idealism.  But 
in  reality  the  same  authority  was  adopted,  though  in 
a  somewhat  less  explicit  form,  by  nearly  all  the  Greek 
moralists,  and  especially  by  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle, 
and  the  Stoics;  and,  in  more  modern  limes,  by  the 
Cartesians  and  by  some  of  our  own  British  writers. 
And,  in  recent  times,  there  may  almost  be  said  to  be 
a  consensus  of  opinion  that,  if  any  ultimate  authority 
is  to  be  found  for  the  moral  life  at  all,  it  can  only  be 
found  in  reason.  Even  Utilitarianism,  as  represented 
by  Sidgwick,  Gizycki,  and  others,  has  come  round  to 
this  view.  The  only  flourishing  school  at  the  present 
timf^  which  does  not  accept  this  position  is  the  school 
of  biological  evolution  ;  and  this  is  the  kind  of  excep- 
tion that  proves  the  rule,  since  writers  of  this  school 
deny  in  general  that  any  ultimate  authority  can  be 
found   for  the   moral   life  at  all.     According   to  them, 


, 


§8.] 


THE   MORAL   STANDARD. 


269 


^TT'  ttel  'rinsuL.   represents   moral 
;^Se  Simply  as  the  wm  ^the  '^^^-^;^ 

this  kind  seems  to  be  the  only  real  alternat.ve  to  the 

doctrine  of  the  authority  of  reason  ,_^^,^,,_ 

S  8   The  Absoluteness  of  the  Moral  AuTHORm 

^  B.   1  HE  ftB  authority  of  the 

If  ic  ant  sometimes  to  seem  <i!»  "  >•">-  -^  :„ 

■■  wl      J  a  Ite  o    of  some  di.ine  l-""!"",  seen, 
To'C      die"     nd  indispouble  .u.hori,,,  ..ped* 

;?,:e7.r.  «.ncUon.d  '^^V^"  »»«  wl'  * 

r-ya:;;;  t -r 'orio";,.":.-.,  ,..=...., 

are  specially  ^^^^  .^^^  ^^^  f^^^  ^f 

-r  — ir:  ..d  ,0  ..Ph..»  .h.  pen.«es 
fZ  their  neglect.      In  comparison  with  such  laws,  a 

:fr;rrnr;.r;e-\rro"^^ 

the  sting  of  conscience  may  be  suppressed.  And  still 
irS  there  seem  t^be  ^:^-^t:^T^ 
"trd  in  the  pre  ent  Manual.     The  realization  of  a 

Xal  universe  seems  strangely  rer^^^^^}  ^^''^IZ 
r  ,  7.  realize  it    there  seems  no  immediate  prospect 

r,r£.ue  Wed  o;  -'»- f ;:^;';re:r 

anv   serious    detriment    to    mind   or   body   or 
Where.  then,  is  the  authority  of  this  standard? 


\ 


II 
I) 


(«i 


n^ 


'i 


I 


270 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CII.  VI, 


But  no  one  who  truly  realizes  to  himself  what  the 
standard  means,  is  likely  to  argue  in  this  way.  Some 
illustrations  from  similar  cases  of  development  may 
serve  to  show  that  the  moral  authority,  in  its  highest 
form,  is  stronger,  not  weaker,  than  it  was  in  its  more 
primitive  modes  of  presentment.  A  child  who  is  set 
to  draw  simple  lines  under  the  guidance  of  a  teacher, 
or  to  learn  the  alphabet  and  elementary  combinations 
of  letters,  may  appear  to  be  under  a  strict  authority, 
in  comparison  with  which  the  great  artist  or  poet 
enjoys  unbounded  licence.  But  is  this  really  so? 
Has  the  word  of  the  master  anything  like  the  con- 
straining force  on  the  child  that  the  ideal  of  beauty 
has  on  the  artist  or  poet  ?  The  one  law,  no  doubt,  is 
simple  and  definite,  and  carries  with  it,  perhaps,  an 
explicit  reward  or  punishment.  The  other  may  be 
hard  to  define,  impossible  to  exhaust,  and  it  may  have 
no  reward  but  the  joy  of  creation,  no  penalty  but  the 
pain  of  failure.  Yet  surely  it  is  on  the  great  artist 
that  the  sternest  necessity  is  laid.  Again,  the  duty  of 
a  patriotic  soldier  may  be  simple  and  obvious  :  he  has 
but  to  do  or  die,  as  his  officers  may  bid.  The  duty 
I  of  a  patriotic  statesman  is  far  more  complex.  He  has 
I  to  consider,  amid  the  tangle  of  surrounding  conditions, 
!  what  is  Hkely  in  the  end  to  be  to  the  highest  interest 
of  his  country ;  and  often  a  clear  answer  is  nowhere 
to  be  found.  Yet  surely  no  statesman  who  is  truly 
patriotic  would  feel  the  obligation  to  be  any  less  real 
than  that  which  is  laid  on  the  simplest  soldier.  Rather, 
the  magnitude  of  the  issues  at  stake  must  render  it 
vastly  greater.  So  we  may  say  of  conduct  in  general. 
The  more  we  advance  in  the  development  of  the  moral 


§8.] 


THE  MORAL  STANDARD. 


271 


.# 


cally,  You  must  do  this,     vvi 

Je,  only  the  |eneral  pnnaple  that    jyj.  J°^^^  ^^ 

to  do  what  you  find  to  be  be  .     A        ^^^  ^^^^  .^  .^^ 

vary  very  ""'=\:"  ''J^Jf^T  onditions.     But  this  does 

'T-  "Inv  wi;  deC  he  absoluteness  of  the  moral 
not  in  any  way  aebuujr  ^^ 

standard.     It  still  rema.ns   as     rue  as   e  ^^ 

are  bound  to  choose  what  -  -r^S^      ^^^^^^  ,^^  „,  ,, 
consequence,"  though  It  n>ay  be  rnor  ^^^ 

say  at  any  given  pomt  what  precisely  .s     g  ^^^ 

authority,  indeed,  --'-;;  J^.^^j^  that  it  is  our 
more  absolute  power,  when  we    ecogn 
own  law,  than  when  we  regard  ,t  a    an  ahe 

This  much  however,  ,s  tn.e    that  a^s  m^^  ^^P  ^^^^^  ^^ 
cease  to  be  laws  of  a  state  01  o  becomes 

of  a  definite  voice  of  -conscience  w.thn  us  ^^^ 

all  the  more  important  to  have  a  ck  r  v 
concrete  content  of  the  moral  We      A  levv  g 
will  no  longer  suffice  for  our  g-dance-  Jh^^  ,    ,u  ^he 
what  we  find  wf  reference    o  the  adva         ^^.^     ^^_. 
-ore  distinctively  human  sc.n.^^  the  formu- 

instance,  scientific   treatment       H  ^^ 

lation  of  a  few  simple  'a-^;  ^"^^^  ^^at  what  is 
degrees  that  it  came  to  ^e  recogn.s  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^ 
really  wanted  is  a  ^on  rete  s      y  ^^^  ^^.^^^^ 

economic  sy stem       n  case^^  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^^ 

was  to  a  large  extent  c  development   by 

a   comparatively   -Hy   po^t jn  d         p       ^^^^^ 

Aristotle ;  but,  both  before  and  aitei 


H* 


272 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VI. 


!•] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


273 


have  been  constant  efforts  to  introduce  an  unreal 
simplification  by  appealing  to  some  rigid  abstract 
standard.  The  significance  of  the  work  of  Hegel  and 
of  the  recent  school  of  development  has  lain  largely 
in  bringing  us  back  again  to  the  more  concrete  point 
of  view  of  Aristotle.  In  the  following  Book  some 
attempt  will  be  made  to  show  the  value  of  this  point 
of  view  in  enabling  us  to  deal  with  some  of  the  more 
important  problems  of  the  moral  life.  Before  we 
proceed,  however,  to  the  consideration  of  the  moral  life 
in  the  concrete,  it  seems  desirable  to  raise  the  general 
question  of  the  bearing  of  ethical  theory  on  practice. 
The  exact  sense  in  which  it  is  possible  to  apply  the 
moral  standard  varies  a  good  deal  with  different  theories 
of  its  nature ;  and  accordingly  it  seems  desirable  at 
this  point  to  devote  a  chapter  to  the  discussion  of  this 
subject. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE    BEARING   OF   THEORY   ON    PRACTICE. 

K  1    Different  Views. -As  I  have  already  indicated 
there'are  different  views  with  regard  to  the  nature  and 
extent  of  the  bearing  of  ethical  theory  on  the  pract^a 
life  of  mankind.     According  to  some,  the  aim  of  Eth>cs 
is  oractical  throughout.     According  to  others,  it  is  a 
;.r    y  "heoreticarstudy.  with  just  as  little  direct  bear- 
ng  on   practical    life  as   astronomy    or   chemistry   or 
metaphysics.     Others,   again,    steer  a  middle  course, 
and    while  holding  that  its  aim  is  not  directly  practical, 
vet  believe  that  it  has  important  practical  bearings, 
fnasmuch  as  it  makes  clear  to  us  the  ideal  involved  in 
me      As  examples  of  the  directly  practical  treatment  of 
Ethics    we  may  refer  to  most  of  the  earlier  thinkers  up 
fo  P So   to  the'stoics  and  Epicureans,  to  the  Medieval 
Casuists   toBentham  and  -o^t°f  the  modern  Utilita- 
rians  and  on  the  whole  to  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer.     This 
view  corresponds  also  to  what  is  probably  the  popular 
conception  of  the  subject.     Most  men  expect  that  an 
etWcal  teacher  will  tell  them  what  they  ought  to  do  ; 
.nd  the  common  phrase  "  the  Ethics  of-"  (Gambling 
Competition,  Controversy,  &c.)  is  generallyunderstood 

^Zll  a  statement  of  the  right  attitude  to  be  adopted 
with  reference  to  certain  departments  of  action  The 
more  purely  theoretical  view  is  to  some  ex  ent  repre- 
Tnted  by  the  effort  of  Spinoza  to  treat  morals  after  the 
Eth.  *^ 


i 


2^4  ETHICS.  [HK.  II.,  CH.  VII. 

manner  of  Geometry.  It  seems  also  to  be  the  view 
taken,  though  in  somewhat  different  senses,  by  various 
recent  writers,  among  whom  may  be  mentioned  Dr. 
Simmcl,  and  perhaps  Mr.  F.  H.  Bradley  and  Mr.  B. 
Bosanquet,  ■  and  one  or  two  others.  The  middle  course, 
however,  has  been  adopted  by  most  of  the  great  writers 
on  the  subject,  from  Aristotle  downwards ;  ,.  e.  these 
writers  have  treated  the  subject  theoretically,  but  at 
the  same  time  have  dearly  indicated  its  bearings  upon 

the  concrete  moml  life. 

Now  the  view  which  we  ought  to  take  on  this  point 
depends  largely  on  the  general  theory  of  Ethics  which 
we  adopt.  Some  consideration  of  the  way  in  which 
the  nature  of  our  theory  affects  its  bearing  on  practice 
may,  consequently,  be  here  in  place. 

§  2.  Relation  of  Different  Views  to  the  Various 
Ethical  Theories.— From  the  point  of  view  of  the 
Moral  Sense  School  the  bearing  of  ethical  theory  upon 

1  Simmers  views  are  to  be  found  especially  i.i  h\s  Einlcilung  m  die 
MoralwisscnscUaJI,  vol.  i.,  p.  iii,  and  vol.  ii.,  PP.  40H,  W,  &c .    Mr 
Bradleys  most  forcible  statements  on  this  point  are  to  be  found  m 
his  Ethical  Studies,  pp.  174-5.  and  in  his  Princitles  of  Log.cpp.  247-8- 
For  some  criticisms  on  the  statements  there  given,  I  may  refer  to 
the  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  vol.  iii..  No.  4,  PP-  507  ^''g- ;  <>.id 
to  the  paper  by  Mr.  H.,stings  Kashdallon  "The  Limits  of  Casuistry 
in  the  same  Journal,  vol.  iv.,  No.  4,  PP-  459  ^W.    Cf  also  'fc'rf-.  vol. 
V    No  3,  pp.  .(«V17^  &c.    It  is  probable,  however,  that  Mr.  Bradley  s 
statements  are  intended  only  as  an  emphatic  protest  against  the  op- 
posite extreme  of  those  who  think  that  ethical  science  should  tell 
us  directly  what  we  ought  in  particular  to  do.    At  any  rate,  there  is 
cround  lor  thinking  that  Mr.  Bradley  no  longer  holds  to  the  CNtreme 
position  indicated  in  the  passages  to  which  I  have  referred,  and  in 
Several  others  throughout  the  Ethical  Studies.    From  several  indi- 
cations in  the  writings  of  Mr.  Bosanquet,  however  ,t  would  appear 
that  he  adheres  to  the  view  expressed  by  Mr.  Bradley  ;  but  I  am  not 
aware  that  he  has  ever  given  any  clear  statement  of  his  position. 


§3.1 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


275 


practical  life  would  be  exceedingly  slight.     For,   ac- 
cording  to  this  view.    Ethics  is  on  substantially  the 
same  footing  as  Esthetics.     Now  it  will  be  generally 
allowed  that  esthetic  theory  ■  has  very  little  direct  bear- 
ine  upon  the  cultivation  of  taste  or  the  production  of 
works  of  art.     Of  course  a  bad  theory  does  sometimes 
corrupt  the  taste  of  a  generation,    and  a  good  theory 
may  help  to  set  it  right.     But  the  influence  of  aesthetic 
theory  in  this  way  is  probably  not  much  greater  than 
that  of  particular  views  on  astronomy  or  biology  might 
be      All  knowledge  affects  practice,  but  not  all  know- 
ledge guides  it ;  and  on  the  whole  aesthetic  theory  does 
not   iruide   taste  or  artistic  production.     Similarly,    if 
morality  were  simply  dependent  on  a  kind  of  intuitive 
taste,  the  theory  which  e.xpounded  the  nature  of  this 
taste  would  not  have  much  effect  on  practical  life,  ex- 
cept in  a  comparatively  indirect  way.     In  like  manner 
it  is  true  of  most  intuitional  theories  of  morals  that,  1 
they  are  accepted,  the  bearing  of  Ethics  on  practical 
life  must  be  of  the  slightest  description.     If  we  know 
what  is  right  by  an  instinctive  perception,    or  by  any 
other  kind  of  direct  insight,  the  theoretical  considera- 
tion of  this  insight  can  bring  nothing  to  light  which  is 
not  already  involved  in  the  practice  of  mankind.     A 
rational  theory,  like  that  of  Kant,  on  the  other  hand. 
,  u.r-^  and  elsewhere    I  understand  .-esthetic  theory  to  be  con- 

more  nearly  resemble  Ethics.  '*"'';„„  ^f  the  Beautiful 
esthetics  as  .-"--^f,:;^*  ^^^he  ^  h  "hand,  the  moral  life  is, 
frfm^\rn;tVofTirc"ase°necessarily  treated  as   a  creative 

activity. 


I  'I 


276 


ETHICS.  [BK.  11.,  CH.  VII. 


would  seem  to  leave  more  scope  for  practical  applica- 
tion •  for,  though  the  rational  principles  recognised  by 
such' a  theory  are  implicit  in  the  ordinary  conscious- 
ness of  mankind,  yet  the  making  of  them  explicit  would 
bring  them  into  greater  clearness,  and  so  might  be  ex- 
pected to  have  a  considerable  influence  upon  practice. 
It  is  the  Utilitarian  theory,  however,  which  lends  itself 
most  directly  to  practical  application.     According  to 
this  view  there  is  a  definite  end  (the  greatest  happiness 
of  the  greatest  number)   to  be   aimed  at  in  life  ;  and 
human  beings  cannot  be  assumed  to  have  this  end  m 
view  in  their  ordinary  actions,   except  in  a  very  vague 
and  blundering  fashion.     Hence  it  would  be  the  aim  of 
ethical  theory,  from  this  point  of  view,  to  bring  he  end 
to  \WM  and  to  consider  the  means  best  adapted  for  its 
attailiment.     This  would  apply  also  to  any  view  (such 
as  that  of  Socrates),  according  to  which  there  is  some 
ascertainable  end  (some    summum  bonum),  to  which 
human  life  ought  to  be  directed,  whether  this  end  be 
described  as  Happiness  or  in  any  other  way.     Final  y, 
if  we  adopt  the  view  of  development,  we  are  naturally 
led  to  take  up  an  intermediate  position  with  reference 
to  the  applicability   of  ethical  theory  to  practice.     Of 
course  if  any  one  were  to  take  the  view  that  the  process 
of  development  is  inevitable  and  not  open  to  criticism, 
there  would  be  no  scope  for  the  application  of  theory 
to  practice  from  this  point   of  view,    any    more  than 
from  the  point  of  view  of  pure  Intuitionism.     If  there 
are  absolute  laws,  either  of  the  natureof  intuitive  com- 
mands or  of  inevitable   natural   forces,  by  which   the 
nature  of  the  moral  life  is  determined,  the  science  of 
Ethics  can  only  stand  by   and  admire  them.      Now 
there  are  some  evolutionists  who  appear  to  take  this 


§3-] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


277 


^  *^         -■ 

•  ,  But  in  general,  the  view  taken  by  those  who 
IdTpt  the  theof;  of  development  is  that  the  develop- 
V  Z  least  in  its  higher  phases,  is  capable  of  re- 
SLguiuUl  and,  In  fact,  can  only  take  place  by 
melr  of  reflection.  Hence,  while  thinkers  o  th  s 
Tchool  would  be  chary  of  any  attempt  to  deal  with  life 
l,v  ^re  e^ence  to  some  abstract  end,  taken  up  without 
rJ."d  to        process  of  its  development  they  wou  d 

- 1  ready  ^  ^^^^T^ :i:::^^  -1 
;:;•:  ZZ:S:^:i^  r..e2e  criticism  might 
be  Ixplcted  to  have  a  considerable  influence  on  prac- 

"these  c^eneral  statements,  however,  are  only  roughly 
trr  anf  we  must  now  try  to  explain  them  some- 
X;    more   accurately   in   relation   to   the   most  im- 

"trVlTlit-iTioMST  ViEW.-According  to  the   In- 

tui  ionl  t  vilw,  we  apprehend  immediately  that  cer- 
tuitioni^L  ^^^^^g  wrong.     On 

S\i:s7sUi  g        inSrpretation  this  means  that  there 

c  r^  er  be  any  real  doubt  as  to  the  best  course  to 

r    "An  errin-  conscience  is  a  chimera.       The 

'E     of  mo^:;  principles  cannot,  therefore,  lead  us  to 

any  truth  which  was  not  known  before;  and  sciei 

/   -v,t;..   U   simolv    an   intellectual   luxury.      This 

Casuistry  is  not  unknown  among  Intuitionists. 


n« 


278 


ETHICS. 


[bK.  II.,  CII.  VII. 


Again,    I  have  pointed  out  that,   according  to  the 
view  of    the    more  rational    Intuitionists  '  (t.  e.  those 
represented  by  the    Hne  of   thought    extending    from 
Cudworth    to    Kant),  the   function    of    Ethics    would 
naturally    be    regarded    as    more    directly     practical; 
since  the  principle  of    morals    is,  from   this  point  of 
view,    one  that   is  capable  of  reflective  analysis.     It 
should  be   observed,  however,  that  Kant   himself  did 
not    regard    Ethics    as  being  practical  in  this  sense. 
For,  though  Kant  held  that  the  Categorical  Imperative 
is  capable  of  reflective  analysis,  yet  he  also  held  that 
it  is  so  simple  and  obvious  in  its  application,  that  it 
is  used  by  all  rational  beings,  without  the  need  of  re- 
flective analysis.      In  fact,  it  was  Kant  who  put  for- 
ward   the    dic/um    that    "an    erring  conscience    is    a 
chimera."     In  accordance   with   this  view,  Kant  also 
held   that  there  are  no  real  cases  of  moral  conflict, 
and    that,    consequently,    casuistry    is    an    absurdity. 
The  laws   of  duty  are   absolute,  and   admit   of  no  ex- 
ceptions.     Kant,  indeed,  is,   from  this  point   of  view, 
quite    the    most    stringent    of    all    Intuitionists.      In 
general,  however,  it  is  true  that  those   who  accept  a 
rational  principle  as   thc'r  standard  acknowledge   the. 
importance  of  reflective  analysis  from  a  practical  point 

of  view. 

§  4.  The  Utilitarian  View. — From  the  Utilitarian 
point  of  view,  the  moral  life  is  conceived  as  directed 
towards  a  definite  end — vis.  the  attainment  of  pleasure, 
and,  more  definitely,  of  the  greatest  possible  pleasure 
of  all  sentient  creatures.  So  far,  then,  as  this  end 
can  be  precisely  determined,  and  the  means  to  its 
attainment  definitely  ascertained,    it   would  be  possi- 

1  If  they  are  to  be  called  Intuitionists.    See  above,  chap,  iii.,  §  10. 


4.] 


THEORY  AND   PRACTICE. 


279 


.le  to  calculate  what  course  of  action  ^^^  ^ 

ssr:  ;tr ^ii/p^tS  i.  b.,  eve.. 

from  the  Utilitarian  standpoint,  this  view  >s  subject    o 
fromtneuuuu  ,•„„      -Fven  the  Utilitarians  hardly 

considerable  qualification.  ^^®"  ^''^  ^"  ,  T^jViirs  to 
conceive  that  it  falls  within  the  province  of  Ethics  to 
"en  a  morality  for  mankind.  It  would  be  unfa.r 
at  aTy  rate,  to  attribute  so  crude  a  ---""P^J, !" 
'  '  of  th;  leading  exponents  of  the  ideas  of  the 
1  .nV  T  S  Mill  in  particular,  has  expressly  guard- 
school.     J.  S.  M.U,     J  ;„  ,^hich  he  com- 

;te?r  e    Its 'of  Ihe  moral  experience  of  manldnd 

r-:tai3'ias  his  ^^:^:t:^:;, 

1       o„,l    V>ive    not  been  carried,   so  to  speaK, 
made,    and  ha^  e    not  ^^^.^^^  philosopher 

many   places   of  Decimals^  ^^^^ 

will  endeavour  gradually  to  revise  an 


t 


280 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VII. 


reflection  on  the  moral  end  may  enable  us  to  intro- 
duce considerable  corrections  into  the  judgment  of 
common-sense  morality.' 

&  6.  The  Evolutionist  View.— When  thus  qualified, 
the  Utilitarian  view  on  this  point  is  not  substantially 
different  from  that  commonly  adopted  by  the  Evolu- 
tionists—at least  by  those  who  take  a  definitely 
teleological  view  of  the  process  of  development. 
From  this  point  of  view,  as  from  that  of  Utilitarianism, 
there  is  a  definite  end  in  view,  though  it  may  be  an 
end  that  is  a  good  deal  more  difficult  to  formulate. 
The  greater  complexity  of  the  end,  however,  tends  to 
introduce  greater  uncertainty  with  respect  to  the  best 
means  to  its  attainment ;  while,  at  the  same  time, 
the  idea  of  development  brings  with  it  a  greater  con- 
fidence in  the  fruits  of  past  experience,  as  embodied 
in  the  traditions  and    intuitions  of    the    race.      The 

iC/.   Fowler  and  Wilson's  Principles  o)  Morals,  Part  I.,  pp.  118-19. 
"  What  is  most  of  all  important  to  the  practical  moralist  is,  that  his- 
tory will  familiarise  him  with  the  idea  of  development  or  evolution, 
shewing  him  that  institutions  or  habits  are  not  accidental  in  their 
origin,  or  mere  devices  of  the  legislator  ;  that  they  have  grown  up 
for  the  most  part  by  virtue  of  tendencies  in  human  nature  modified 
and  directed  by  external  circumstances,  and  that  these  tendencies 
should  be  understood  by  all  who  seek  to  direct  them.    This  con- 
sideration will  teach  us  the  precaution  necessary  in  dealing  with 
prevalent  ideas  and  customs,  and  prevent  us  from  making  attempts 
to  modify  them  without  due  preparation.     On  the  other  hand,  by 
studying  the  circumstances  in  which  moral  ideas  or  rules  had  their 
origin,  we  shall  be  better  able  to  see  whether  they  are  suitable  to 
the  present  condition  of  mankind,  or  whether  the  necessity  for 
them  has  ceased.     History,  in  short,  enables  us  to  understand  and 
appreciate  the  present ;  it  enables  us  to  some  exient  to  anticipate 
the  future,  and  the  knowledge  which  it  supplies  is  an  indispensable 
condition  of  all  wise  attempts  at  moral  and  social  improvement." 
It  is  thus  that  the  careful  Utilitarian  recognises  the  necessity  of  the 
study  of  the  actual  course  of  concrete  moral  development. 


5.] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


281 


Evolutionist    is,    consequently,    as   a  rule,    less  prone 
than  the  Utilitarian   is  to  imagine  that  it  is  possible 
by  reflection  to  introduce  definite  improvements  into 
the  morality  of  common  sense.     Mr.  Herbert  Spencer 
has  perhaps  shown  himself  more  ready  than  most  to 
suggest    practical    conclusions;    but    this    is    not   so 
much  because  he  thinks  it  possible  to  improve  upon 
the  results  of  experience  as  because  he  thinks  that  the 
experience  of  the  race  has  resulted  in  the   estabhsh- 
ment  of  certain  quite  definite  intuitions  as  to  natural 
rights,  &c.,  though  the  perversity  of  the  human  race 
leads  it  verv  frequently  to    neglect     these     intuitive 
truths.     But  Mr.  Spencer's  views  on  this  point  do  not 
seem  to  me  to  be  quite  consistent. 

There  are,  however,  as  we  have  seen,  other  writers 
of  the  Evolutionist  school  who  do  not  hold  that  it  is 
possible  to  formulate  any  definite  end  to  which  the 
process  of  development  may  be  regarded  as  tending. 
According  to  these  writers,  there  is  a  gradual  process 
of  Evolution,  and  various  forms  of  moral  action  and 
moral  judgment  arise  in  the  course  of  it  ;  but  it  is  not 
possible  to  give  any  clear  account  of  its  ultimate  goal. 
It  must  be  taken  simply  as  we  find  it ;  and  the  forms 
of  action   and  of  moral  judgment  must  be  taken  along 
with  the  rest.     The  study  of  Ethics,  from  this  point  of 
view,  is  simply  a  part  of  the  wider  study  of  Psychology 
and  Sociology,   and  hence  is  simply  a  study  and  in- 
terpretation of  facts.     This  is  the  view,  in  particular, 
of  Dr.  Simmel,  who  ridicules  the  attempts  of  what  he 
calls  the  Monistic  Moralists  to  give  an  account  of  any 
single  principle  by  which  the  moral  life  is  guided.     It 
is  merely  a  struggle  of  opposing  forces,  and  the  result- 
ing moral  system  expresses  nothing  Uut  the  tendencies 


!  : 


282  ETHICS.  [BK.  n  ,  CII.  VII. 

Of  the  -compact  majority."     But  this  is  not  so  much 
a  theory  of  Ethics  as  a  theory  of  its  >mposs.b.hty      In 
so  far  however,  as  such  a  view  is  taken,  eth.cal  theory 
luld  have  no  practical  appHcation  just  as  U  has  no 
according  to  the  purely  Intuition.st  view.     When  we 
en  e  the  region  ot  absoh.te  Law  as  the  foundation  o 
mo    1  -whether  it  be  that  of  God,  of  Conscience   of 
Reason,   or  of  a  blind  struggle-we  are  beyond  the 
possibility  of  regulative  principles  based  on  an  id^al 

R  6    The    Idealistic   View. -How    does   the   matter 
stand,   finally,   from  the  point   of  view   of    he   mor 
idealistic  theory  of  development  ?     From  this  stand 
po'i  the  process  of  development  is  conceived  in  a 
r     distinctly  teleological  fashion  than  it  is  ^on.  the 
stindpoint  of  biological  evolution  ;  but  on  the  other 
hid  thlend  in  vie^  is  more  complex  and  more  diffi- 
S    to  define.     The  unfolding  of  the  capab,  ities  of 
mankhid    the   realisation   of  the  rational  Uniyerse- 
rr"se      uch  as  these,  though  they  have  a  quite  defi- 

STand  intelligible  meaning,  '-^^'y -^ V^of  wi;!:" 
us  with  a  clear-cut  end  to  the  attainment  of  ^^hlch 
Tefi^ite  means  may  be  adopted.     U^  ai,  end  were 
not  one  that  is  naturally  and  '"^^'t^^'ly  ^^.°P  '  3^7^ 
mankind    it  would  be  hopeless  to  seek  to  impose  it 
Z^tm.     Besides,  as  the  ideal,  from  t^-  PO-t  « 
V  ew   is  not  thought  of  as  an  external  end,  but  as  the 
unfolding  of  the  essential  nature  of  mankind^  we  may 
nfurally' expect  to  find  it  unfolding  "se  f  Jhrougho 
the  whole  course  of  human  history.     If  this  view   s 
correct    the  ideal  would  be  found  in  human  life  by   he 
psychologist   and  the  sociologist,   as  well  as  by  the 
Sen    of  Ethics  ;  the  difference  ^>eing  that  the  forme 
are  not  specially,  concerned  with  it,  and  tmd  it  only  as 


§6.] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


283 


one  fact  among  others,  while  the  student  of  Ethics 
makes  it  his  special  business  to  examine  it.  From  the 
point  of  view  of  idealism,  therefore,  more  than  from 
most  others,  it  must  be  clearly  recognised  that  it  is  not 
the  business  of  Ethics  to  invent  a  new  morality  for  the 
world  If  it  were  not  true  that  "morality  is  the  nature 
of  thino-s,"  no  amount  of  reflection  could  ever  make  it 
so  At  the  same  time,  this  ought  not  to  be  under- 
stood as  meaning  that  the  student  of  Ethics  accepts 
the  world  as  he  finds  it.     Like  the  poet,  he 

"  Looks  at  all  things  as  they  are 
But  through  a  kind  of  glory." 

He  looks  at  the  world  in  the  light  of  the  ideal  which  is 
developing  through  it.     Taking  the  world  as  it  stands 
at  any  particular   time,  we   do   not   find  that  it  is  a 
homogeneous  whole.     It  is  a  struggling,  developing 
process,   in  which,   as  the  Persians  put  it,   there  is  a 
continual  conflict  between  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman,  Light 
and  Darkness.     The  student  of  Ethics,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  Idealism,  is  not  an  indifferent  spectator  of 
this  struggle.     Ho  looks  for  the  evidence  of  the  triumph 
of  Light.''  In  what  direction  this  triumph  will  come, 
he   will  hardly  undertake   to   prophesy  ;    but,    in   his 
study  of  life  and  history,  of  the  contest  between  the 
Family  and  the  State,   Individualism  and  Socialism, 
Law  and  Freedom,  the  ideals  of  the  Hebrews  and  of 
the  Greeks,  he  is  interested  to  watch  not  simply  the 
direction  in  which  at  any  time  things  are  moving,  in 
the  swaying  to  and  fro  of  opposing  forces,  but  rather 
in  trying  to  bring  out  the  sigmficance  of  the  movement 
i  e   its  bearing  upon  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the  ideal 
which  it  involves.     To  study  it  in  this  way  is  at  the 
same  time  to  criticise  it. 


1 


284 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VII. 


7.] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


285 


There  are  thus  two  sides  in   the  idealistic  view  of 
Ethics.     On  the  one  hand,  it  looks  to  the  experience 
of  mankind  ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  looks  to  the  ideal. 
Without  the  former  it  would  be  empty  ;  without  the 
latter  it  would  be  blind.     And  on   the  whole  all  the 
writers  who  have  dealt  with  the  subject  from  this  point 
of  view  have  kept  their  eyes  upon   both  aspects.     But 
some  writers  have  tended  to  lay  more  emphasis  on  the 
one  side  than  on  the  other.     The  typical  instances  of 
the  two  methods  are  Plato  and  Aristotle.     Plato  seems, 
at  least  to  the  superficial  view,  to  be  perpetually  con- 
structing ideal  Republics  and  ideal  types  of  life,  with 
but  little  reference  to    the    concrete   facts    of  human 
development.'     Aristotle,  on  the  other  hand,  seems — 
again  to  the  superficial  view — to  throw  aside  the  ideal 
as  not  TrpaxTo'^  xat  xTTjrdv  dvOpa>7:(o,  and  to  concentrate  his 
attention  upon  the  virtues  and  institutions  of  the  Greek 
State,    as  he  found   it    beside  him.      Hegel,    in    more 
modern   times,    has  seemed  to  lend  himself  to  both 
forms  of  misunderstanding.      Some  have  regarded  him 
as  a  father  of  revolutionists, ^  who  created  a  world  out 
of  his  inner  consciousness,  without  regard  to  fact  and 
history  ;  others  have  scoffed  at  him  as  an  upholder  of 
the  s/a/us  quo,  who  simply  accepted  the  world  as  he 
found  it. 3     But  wisdom  is  justified  of  all  her  children  ; 

1  That  Plato  was  not  a  mere  dreamer  of  dreams,  but  a  true  inter- 
preter of  the  moral  life  of  his  time,  is  well  brought  out  by  Hegel  in 
his  History  of  Philosophy  and  Philosophy  of  Right 

2  The  Socialists  and  Nihilists  used  to  be  fond  of  claiming  Hegel  as 
their  founder.    They  seem  to  have  abandoned  this  view  now. 

3  Fries  said  of  Hegel  that  his  political  views  were  grown  "  not  in 
the  garden  of  science,  but  on  the  dunghill  of  servility."  In  some- 
what the  same  way  Goethe  was  called  the  PYiend  of  the  powers 
that  be  {Frciuid  dcs  Bestehenden).    The  confusion,  in  the  case  of 


and  the  opposition  between  these  different  aspects  of 
t  uth  is  wholly  superficial.     The  ethical  ideahst  takes 
h    world  as  he  finds  it  ;  but  he  takes  it  to  br.ng  out 
ts  significance,   and  so  to  criticise  U.     He  brings  an 
ideal  to  bear  upon  it,  but  the  ideal  is  one  that  .s  n,- 
yolved  in  the  facts  themselves.     The  seemnig  opposi- 
tion is  a  real  identity  ;  and  Aristotle  is  not  the  enemy 
of  Plato,  but  his  interpreter. 

R  7  Summary  of  Results. -On  the  whole,  tnen  we 
see  that  there  are  three  views  of  the  way  in  which 
Ethics  bears  on  practical  life  :— 

(A  There  is  the  view  that  it  has  essentially  no 
bearing  upon  it  at  all.  This  is  the  view  of  the  more 
extreme  Intuitionists,  whether  perceptional  or  rational ; 
of  those  evolutionists  who  believe  that  no  end  can  be 
discovered  in  the  process  of  development  ;  and  perhaps 
also  of  a  few  idealists. 

(2)  There  is  the  view  that  Ethics  is  directly  practical. 
This  is  the  view  chiefly  of  the  Utilitarians,  but  partly 
also  of  all  those  who  think  that  some  definite  end  can 
be  formulated  for  mankind,  which  is  not  involved  in 
the  process  of  human  development  itself. 

(i)  There  is  the  view  that  Ethics  has  for  its  primary 
function  to  bring  out  the  significance  of  the  moral  life 
in  relation  to  the  ideal  that  is  involved  in  it,  and  that 
this  process  is  at  the  same  time  a  criticism  of  it.  The 
third  of  these  views  is  of  course  the  one  that  is  here 

Hecel  arises  mainly  from  not  appreciating  his  distinction  between 
the  Actual  iWirkUch)  and  the  Existent.  He  held  that  the  Actual  is 
^tional.  but  he  meant  by  the  Actual,  not  what  is  at  any  .me  found 
siting,  but  the  underlyingspirit  by  which  the  movement  o  h.story 
r<^;^iedon.  It  is  the  business  of  Ethics  to  bnng  this  clearly  to 
light. 


^ 


1  ( 


286  ETHICS.  [J'K.  n,  en.  vii. 

adopted  ;  and,  in  the  light  of  what  has  now  been  said, 
the  remarks  at  the  beginning  of  this  treatise  on  the 
essentially  normative  character  of  ethical  science  may 
perhaps  become  more  intelligible. 

8  8.  Comparison  between  Ethics  and  Logic.  —Perhaps 
a  comparison  between  Ethics  and    Logic,    from   this 
point  of  view,  may  help  in  some  degree  to  make  my 
Ineaning   clearer.     The    essential   similarity    between 
these  two  sciences  has  been  already  indicated.     Now, 
it  is  possible  to  take  different  views  of  Logic,  in  its 
bearing  upon  the  work  of  the  particular  science,  just 
as  it  is  possible  to  take  different  views  of  Ethics,  in  its 
bearing  upon  practical  life.     It  may  be  held  that  it  is 
the  business  of  Inductive  Logic  to  lay  down  the  rules 
to  be  observed  by  the  particular  sciences  in  the  inves- 
tigation of  nature.     This  is  on  the  whole  the  view 
suggested  by   Mill,   just  as  on  the  whole  the  corre- 
sponding view   of  Ethics   is   suggested  by  him.     Or 
again,  such  a  Logic  as  that  of  Hegel,  in  which  the,  ideas, 
of  Quantity,   Substance,    Cause,   &c.,  are  dealt  with  m 
their  relationship  to  one  another,  may  be  supposed  to 
be  (and  has  been  supposed  to  be)  an  effort  to  deduce 
these  ideas  a  prion,  without  any  reference  to  the  way 
in  which  they  emerge  in  our  experience.     Such  views 
of  Logic  would  be  on  a  par  with  the  view  of  Ethics 
according  to  which  it  is  its  business  to  invent  a  system 
of  morality.     But  most  logicians   would   now    admit 
that  the  methods  of  the  sciences  have  to  be  first  dis- 
covered by  the  sciences  themselves,  and  that  the  ideas 
used  by  them  (Quantity,  Substance,  Cause,  &c.),  could 
never  be  known  by  us   if  they   did   not    inevitably 
emerge  in  the  course  of  our  experience.     So   also  it 
seems  to  be  true  that  the  content  of  the  moral  hfe  is 


8.] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


287 


developed  in  the  course  of  human  experience,  and  does 
not  wait  for  the  science  of  Ethics  to  invent  it. 

But  then,  it  may  be  asked,  does  Logic  simply  accept 
the  methods  of  the  sciences  as  it  finds  them,  and  simply 
arrange  the  ideas  of  which  the  sciences  make  use  .^ 
This  view  also  seems  to  be  incorrect.  Logic  seeks  to 
bring  out  the  significance  of  those  methods  and  ideas, 
ad  to  test  their  validity.  In  this  way  it  at  once 
•ustifies  them  within  their  proper  sphere,  and  brings 
ou  their  limitations.  It  does  not  invent  ideas  and 
methods  for  the  sciences,  but  it  certainly  criticises  those 
Tha^;  finds,  in  the  light  of  the  ideas  of  truth  -     con- 

^  '  i.   'I  f;^^Ac  in   them      So  witn  xLinics.     it 
<;i<;tencv  which  it  nnas  in  iiieui.  ^,      •  ,      ^ 

d     s  nit  invent  the  Family  and  the  State^or  the  iclea 
of  Love  and  Truth,  or  the  laws  about  Life  and  Fro 

-"  -,, ...  - -- ;°,°rc':r ;"m 

which  thev  have  reference,     it  tnus  ai   oik.c 
ThS  sign  ficancc,  and  indicates  their  limitations.     Fo 
tie    -plain  man"  such  an  institution  as  the  Family  or 
Private  Property  is  apt  to  seem  an  eternal  and  inviolable 
fetthe  moral  life;  and,  if  he  is  taught  to  doubt 
about   this,  by   being   sl.own   that   they   have   had 
history,  and  have  -^^^^-f^^J't    be     m    colsed, 
::::^VS:Z^Z::^^^^  l^  those  elemen.  . 
human  life  has  been  destroyed.     The  student  of  Ethics 
shou  d  b    able  to  see  the  significance  and  value  of  such 
tStutions,   while  at  the  same  time  he  is  able  to  pu 
t^em  in  their  proper  place  as  elements  m  a  whole.     It 


i; 


1  ' 


288 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  II.,  CH.  VII. 


is  in  this  form  of  critical  insight  that  the  study  of  Ethics 
has  practical  value. 

§  9.  The  Treatment  of  Applied  Ethics. — In  the 
light  of  those  observations,  we  are  now  able  to  proceed 
to  the  treatment  of  Applied  Ethics.  Hitherto  we  have 
been  concerned  with  the  pure  theory,  /*.  e.  with  the 
consideration  of  the  nature  of  the  standard  or  ideal. 
Now,  a  treatise  on  Ethics  frequently  contains  nothing 
more  than  the  discussion  of  this  point  ;  and,  if  our 
view  of  the  nature  of  the  standard  had  been  some- 
what different  from  what  it  is,  this  might  possibly  have 
sufificed  for  our  purpose.  If  we  had  adopted  an  in- 
tuitional view,  there  could  have  been  hardly  any 
Applied  Ethics  to  deal  with.  If  we  had  adopted  a 
Utilitarian  view,  the  a])plications  would  have  consisted 
in  working  out  the  Calculus  in  various  directions  ;  and 
however  difficult  (if  not  impossible)  this  might  be,  the 
general  principle  of  it  at  least  would  have  been  so 
obvious,  that  we  might  fairly  have  been  dispensed  from 
the  working  of  it  out.  But  for  any  one  who  adopts  the 
point  of  view  of  development  a  treatment  of  Ethics 
which  made  no  attempt  to  interpret  the  concrete  pro- 
cess of  development  in  the  light  of  the  ideal  principle 
involved,  would  be  little  short  of  an  absurdity.  Hence, 
this  part  of  the  subject  has  generally  been  a  prominent 
one  with  those  writers  who  adopt  the  point  of  view 
of  Development.  It  is  so,  for  instance,  with  Aristotle, 
in  whose  Nicomachean  Ethics  the  concrete  life  of  the 
citizen  is  sketched  with  considerable  fulness,  and  who 
seeks  to  complete  the  subject  by  a  consideration  of  the 
State  and  Education  in  his  treatise  on  Politics.  It  is 
so  also  with  Hegel,  whose  chief  work  on  Ethics  (the 


§9.] 


THEORY   AND   PRACTICE. 


289 


Philosophy  of  Right)  is  almost  entirely  concerned  with 

the  concrete  moral  life. 

In  dealing  with  this  concrete  aspect  of  the  subject, 
the  student  must  guard  against  two  possible  miscon- 
ceptions, which  have  perhaps  already  been  sufficiently 
indicated,  but  which  it  may  be  well  to  repeat  and  em- 
phasize once  more. 

(1)  It  must  not  for  a  moment  be  imagined  that  the 
concrete  elements  of  the  moral  life  are  to  be  extracted 
by  some  sort  of  alchemy,  out  of  the  general  prmciple. 
The  task  of  Ethics  would  indeed  be  a  hard  one  if  it  had 
to  invent  the  moral  life  as  well  as  to  interpret  it.     But 
happily  there  were  some  good  men  in  the  world  before 
there  were  books  on  Ethics  ;  and  even  now  that  many 
books   have   been    written,   Heaven  help  the  hapless 
mortal  who  gets  his  ideas  of  the  moral  life  from  them  ! 
We  can  learn  what  the  moral  life  is  by  living  it,  and 
there  is  no  other  way.     It  is  only  after  it  has  been  lived 
that  the  science  of  Ethics  can  step  in,  andexplam  what 
it  means.     No  doubt  in  thus  explaining  it,   it  is  at  the 
same  time  criticising  it  ;  and  a  moral  life  that  has  been 
subjected  to  criticism  (like  a  book  that  has  been  sub- 
iected  to  criticism)  is  not  quite  the  same  thing  as  it  was 
before.     But  the  student  must  altogether  clear  his  mind 
of  any  sort  of  notion  that  may  linger  in  it,  that  in  the 
chapters  which  follow  a  brand-new  moral  life  is  to  be 
unfolded  before  his  wondering  eyes.     Even  a  treatise 
on  medical  science  does  not  teach  us  to  breathe  with 
our  ears      We  learn  to  breathe  before  we  study  physi- 
ology or  hygienics,  and  to  live  before  we  study  Ethics; 
and   on  the  whole,  after  we  have  studied  them,  breathe 
and  live  very  much  as  we  did  before.     We  learn  such 
things  by  action  and  experience.     If  a  man  is      a  fool 


290 


ETHICS. 


[bK.  II.,  CH.  VII. 


§1.] 


THE   SOCIAL   UNITY, 


291 


or  a  physician  at  forty,"  it  is  certain  that  he  is  a  muff  or 
a  moralist  at  a  still  more  tender  age  ;  and  the  reflec- 
tive analysis  of  life  can  only  teach  him  to  do  a  little 
more  carefully  and  exactly  (it  may  be,  only  a  little  more 
pedantically)  what  in  the  main  he  did  before. 

(2)  On  the  other  hand,  the  student  must  equally 
guard  against  the  opposite  misconception,  that  in  study- 
ing the  content  of  the  moral  life  we  regard  it  simply 
from  the  point  of  view  of  Sociology.  To  the  student 
of  Sociology  the  immoral  life  is  on  the  whole  as  inter- 
esting as  the  moral  life  (Simmel  says  '  it  is  more  so),  and 
degeneration  is  as  interesting  as  development.  For  us, 
on  the  other  hand,  life  is  interesting  only  in  the  light 
of  its  ideal.  We  do  not  care  for  what  it  is,  but  for  what 
it  signifies.  Hence  also  our  method  of  treatment  is 
different.  We  do  not  aim  at  a  statement  of  the  course 
through  which  the  moral  life  has  passed  in  the  che- 
quered career  of  its  history,  but  rather  at  an  account 
of  its  most  significant  aspects.  In  a  complete  treat- 
ment of  it,  we  might  perhaps  be  led  to  arrange  it,  after 
the  manner  of  Hegel,  in  the  order  of  its  dialectical 
development.  But  in  an  introductory  account  like  the 
present  a  somewhat  less  systematic  arrangement  may 

suffice. 

At  any  rate,  we  have  now  had  enough  of  these  pre- 
liminary observations  and  warnings.  Let  us  plunge, 
as  best  we  can,  into  our  account  of  the  concrete  moral 
life. 

1  See  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol  HI.,  no.  4.  So  also  in 
physiology  and  psychology,  pathological  states  are  often  more 
enlightening  than  those  that  are  nornial. 


I 


BOOK  III. 

THE  MORAL   LIFE. 


CHAPTER   I. 


THE    SOCIAL  UNITY. 


§  1.  The  Social  Self.— We  have   seen  that  the  true 
self  is  the  rational  self.     We  must  now  try  to  under- 
stand what  this  means.     And,  first  of  all,  we  have  to 
add  that  the  true  self  is  the  social  self.     Up  to  this  pomt 
we  have  spoken  of  the  individual  almost  as  if  he  might 
be  an  isolated  and  independent  unit.     But  every  individ- 
ual belongs  to  a  social  system.     An  isolated  individual 
is  even  inconceivable.     Aristotle  said  truly  that  such  a 
being  must  be    -either  a  beast  or  a  god."^     Such  a 
being  could  have  no  ideal  self.     He  must  either  have 
realized  his  ideal  like  a  god,  or  have  no  ideal  to  realize 
like  a  beast.     For  our  ideal  self  finds  its  embodiment 
in  the  life  of  a  society,  and  it  is  only  in  this  way  that 
it  is  kept  before  us.     Not  only  so,  but  even  the  realiza- 
tion of  our   ideal   seems  to   demand  a  society.     For 
to  have  a  perfectly  rational  self  would  involve  that  our 
universe   should   have    a   perfectly   rational    content. 
Now  the  only  possible  universe  with  a  rational  content 
seems  to  be  a  universe  of  rational  beings.     Hence  we 
1  Politics  I  ii  14  :  "  He  who  is  unable  to  live  in  society,  or  who  has 
no  need  because  he  is  sufficient  for  himself,  must  be  either  a  beast 

or  a  god  (^  6ripiov  t)  «e6s)." 


292 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  I. 


must  go  even  beyond  the  saying  of  Aristotle,  and  say 
that  even  a  God  must  be  social.  Even  a,  God  must 
have  a  rational  universe  ii\  relation  to  Himself,  and 
must  consequently  create,  or,  in  Hegelian  phrase, 
go  out  of  Himself  into  a  world  of  rational  beings. 
But  this  is  perhaps  too  abstruse  a  subject  to  be  more 
than  hinted  at  here.  It  is  sufficient  for  our  purpose  to 
say  that  it  is  in  relation  to  our  fellow-men  that  we  find 
our  ideal  life.  ''  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  to- 
gether, there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them."'  The  "  I  " 
or  ideal  self  is  not  realized  in  any  one  individual,  but 
finds  its  realization  rather  in  the  relations  of  persons  to 
one  another.  It  embodies  itself  in  literature  and  art, 
in  the  laws  of  a  state,  in  the  counsels  of  perfection 
which  societies  gradually  form  for  themselves. 

§  2.  Society  a  Unity. — Society,  therefore,  must  be  re- 
garded as  a  unity — in  fact,  as  we  shall  see  shortly,  as 
an  organic  unity.  The  parts  of  it  are  necessary  to  each 
other,  as  the  parts  of  an  animal  organism  are  ;  and  it 
is  in  all  the  parts  in  relation  to  one  another,  rather  than 
in  any  one  of  them  singly,  that  the  true  life  is  to  be 
found.  * '  We  are  members  one  of  another. "  The  ideal 
life  of  one  requires  others  to  complement  it,  and  it  is 
by  mutual  help  that  the  whole  develops  towards  per- 
fection.    This  we  shall  see  more  fully  in  the  sequel.* 


1  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  this  saying  was  originally  intended 
to  bear  the  sense  here  ascribed  to  it.  But  I  think  it  has  frequently 
been  used  by  religious  men  to  express  that  consciousness  of  unity, 
and  of  elevation  into  a  higher  universe,  which  arises  when  a  number 
of  men  gather  together  in  a  common  spirit  and  with  a  common  aim 
for  the  advancement  of  their  moral  lives.  Clifford's  "  tribal  self " 
contains  a  similar  idea.   See  above,  p.  115. 

2  See  sections  11  and  12  below.  The  present  section  is  intended 
only  as  a  preliminary  statement 


3.4-] 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITY. 


293 


§  3.  Egoism  and  Altruism.— This  fact  leads  us  to  in- 
troduce a   certain   modification  into   the   view  of  the 
moral  life'that  has  been   presented  up  to  the  present 
point      We  have  spoken  of  the  great  end  of  the  moral 
life  as   self-realization.     But  since  an   individual  is  a 
member  of  a  social  unity,  his  supreme  end  will  be  not 
simply  the  perfecting  of  his  own  life,  but  also  of  the 
society  to  which  he  belongs.     To   a   great  extent  the 
one  end  will  indeed  coincide  with  the  other.     Yet  there 
appears,  at  least  primd  facie,  to  be  a  certain  possibility 
of  conflict.     Now  when  we   seek   simply  our  own  m- 
dividual  ends,   this    attitude   is   called^^o^s;.. ;  while 
the  term  Altruism   is  used  to  denote  devotion  to  the 
ends  of  others.     It  is  of  great  importance  to  consider 
the  precise  relation   of  these  two   attitudes   to    one 

^Tt-^Mx-    Spen-cer's  Conciliation. -a   good   deal    of 
attention  has  been  given  to  this  subject  by  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer,-  and  he  has  endeavoured  to  show  how  a  con- 
ciliation may  be  effected  between  the  two  attitudes. 
He  points  out  that  either  of  them,  if  carried  to  an  ex- 
treme, is  self-destructive.     If  every  one  were  to  seek 
only  his  own  ends,  this  would  be  a  bad  way  of  secur- 
L  the  ends  even  of  any  one  individual     For  each 
on^e  stands  frequently  in  need  of  help.     On  the  other 
hand,  if  every  one  were  to  devote  himself  entirely  to 
the  good  of  others,  this  would  be  fatal  to  the  good  of 
others      For  if  each  one  neglected  himself,  he  would 
deteriorate  in  his  ability  to  help  others.     Th -p-^t  ;^ 
worked  out  in  a  very  interesting  way  by  Mr.  Spencer, 

1  Data  of  Ethics,  chaps,  xi.  and  xiv.    Cf.  ^'^^"^^"^^^'^'HX^^: 
chap    vi.,  Dewey's  Outliues  of  Ethics,  pp.    70-.  "nd    Mu.rheads, 

E/emoifco/iSWiics,  pp.  164-5- 


294 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  I. 


^.l-'] 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITY. 


295 


and  he  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  what  we  should 
aim  at  is  neither  pure  Egoism  nor  pure  Altruism,  but  a 
compromise  between  them.  He  thinks  also  that  the 
more  completely  society  becomes  developed,  the  more 
will  the  two  ends  tend  to  become  identical. 

§  5.  Self-realization  through  Self-sacrifice. —The 
truth  seems  to  be,  however,  that  there  is  even  less 
opposition  between  Egoism  and  Altruism  than  that 
which  Mr.  Spencer  recognizes.  We  can  realize  the  true 
self  only  by  realizing  social  ends.  In  order  to  do  this 
we  must  negate  the  merely  individual  self,  which,  as 
we  have  indicated,  is  not  the  true  self.  We  must  real- 
ize ourselves  by  sacrificing  ourselves.^  The  more  fully 
we  so  realize  ourselves,  the  more  do  we  reach  a  uni- 
versal point  of  view—/,  e.  a  point  of  view  from  which 
our  own  private  good  is  no  more  to  us  than  the  good 
of  any  one  else.  No  doubt  it  must  always  be  neces- 
sary for  us  to  take  more  thought  for  our  own  individual 
development  than  for  that  of  any  one  else  ;  because 
each  one  best  understands  his  own  individual  needs, 
and  has  the  best  means  of  working  out  his  own  nature 
to  its  perfection.  But  when  this  is  done  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  whole,  it  is  no  longer  properly  to  be  de- 
scribed as  Egoism.  It  is  self-realization,  but  it  is  self- 
realization  for  the  sake  of  the  whole.  In  such  self- 
realization  the  mere  wishes  and  whims  of  the  private 
self  have  been  sacrificed,  and  we  seek  to  develop  our- 
selves in  the  same  spirit  and  for  the  same  ends  as  those 
in  which  and  for  which  we  seek  to  develop  others. 
When  we  live  in  such  a  spirit  as  this,  the  opposition 
between  Egoism  and  Altruism  ceases.     We  seek  neither 

1  Cf.  Caird's  Hegel,  pp.  210-218. 


our  own  good  simply  nor  the  good  of  others  simply, 
b^  tTegood  both  of  ourselves  and  of  others  as  mem- 
oes of  -  whole.     Looking  at  the  matter    therefore 
from  this  point  of  view,  it  might  be  better  to  descr.be 
fhe  ulti-ate  end  as  the  realization  of  a  rational  uni- 
verse, rather  than  as  ^f-^^^^^^,^  ^^^,  ,,,,g„i,e, 

S  6.  Ethics  a  Part  of  Folitics.      we  mu  & 

in  short  that  man  is,  as  Aristotle  expressed  ,t  ;  a  po- 
i  aranimal,"  ■  and  that  Ethics  cannot  ^e  satis  acto 
rily  treated  except  as  a  part  of  Politics-^  e.  as  a  part 
"the  study  of  Society.     Our  duties  and  our  virtues 
a  eat  every  point  dependent  on  our  relations  to  one 
another      Thl  fact  was  more  clearly  recognized  by 
some  of  the  ancient  Greek  thinkers  than  it  has  been 
by  many  in  modern  times-for,  in  modern  times,  partly 
on  "count  of  the  influence  of  Christianity,' we  have 
come  to  think  more  of  the  independence  of  the  mdi 
vTual      It  may  be  well,  therefore,  to  glance  for  a 
moment  at  the  way  in  which  Ethics  was  regarded  by 

T7:P-otvrwo.ETHics.-Plato  was  so  strongly 
impressed  with  the  social  nature  of  man,   and  with 
Znecessity  of  studying  his  life  in  relation   o  soce  y 
that   in  his  study  of  Ethics,  instead  of  inquiring  into 
the  characteristics  of  a  virtuous  life  in  an  nidividual 
Le  endeavoured  first  to  determine  tje  chara  t       t 
of  a  good  state.     Having  found  what  these  are    he 
onsilered  that  it  would  be  perfectly  easy  to  -fe-hat 
are  the  characteristics  of  a  good  man.     Accordingly, 
Z  great  ethical  treatise  of  Plato  is  the  Repubkc,  m 
1 ..  noX..,ov  i^, "  (»;^^;-^9).  international  relation- 

as  a  complete  and  exclusive  unity  m  itself. 


« 


296 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  T. 


J§  9.  10.] 


THE   SOCIAL   UNITY. 


297 


which  he  gives  a  sketch  of  an  ideal  state.  It  seemed 
to  him — in  accordance  with  a  classification  that  was 
current  among  the  Greeks — that  there  were  four  great 
virtues  required  for  the  existence  of  an  ideal  state,  viz. 
wisdom,  courage,  temperance,  and  justice ;  and  he 
thought  that  by  observing  exactly  the  significance  of 
these  virtues  in  the  ideal  state,  he  was  able  to  see  also 
what  their  exact  significance  must  be  in  the  life  of  the 
individual.* 

§8.  Aristotle's  View  of  Ethics. — Aristotle  was  not 
less  convinced  than  Plato  of  the  essentially  social 
nature  of  man.  He  began  his  great  treatise  on  Ethics 
— perhaps  the  greatest  that  has  ever  been  written — 
with  a  statement  to  the  effect  that  Ethics  is  a  part  of 
Politics  ;  ^  and  the  greater  part  of  his  treatise  is  occupied 
with  an  investigation  of  the  virtues  that  are  required 
in  a  good  citizen  of  a  state  such  as  he  found  in  Greece, 
and  especially  in  Athens.  He  did  indeed  think  that 
there  was  a  kind  of  life,  what  he  called  the  contem- 
plative or  speculative  life  (what  we  might  call  the  life 
of  science,  or  the  life  of  the  student),  which  was  essen- 
tially higher  than  the  life  of  political  activity  ;  but  he 

1  For  a  fuller  account  of  Plato's  Ethics,  see  Sidgwick's  History  oj 
Ethics,  pp.  35-51.  Plato's  Republic  is  a  book  of  such  interest  and 
importance  that  every  student  ought  to  find  some  opportunity  of 
reading  it.  It  has  been  admirably  translated  both  byjowettand  by 
Davies  and  Vaughan.  In  connection  with  this,  Dr.  Bosanquet's 
Companion  to  Plato's  Republic  should  by  all  means  be  used. 

2  In  the  wide  sense  in  which  the  term  Politics  was  used  by  the 
Greeks.  Perhaps  in  modern  times  we  should  rather  say  that  Ethics 
is  a  part  of  Social  Philosophy.  I  have  discussed  this  point  in  my 
Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy,  p.  48.  On  the  relation  between 
Ethics  and  Politics  the  student  may  profitably  consult  Sidgwick's 
Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chap.  ii.  See  also  Muirhead's  Elements 
of  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chap,  iii.,  §  14. 


t 


» 


considered  that  even  this  higher  life  must  be  built  up  ^ 
on  a  basis  of  civic  virtue. ' 

§  9.  Cosmopolitism.— The  best  Ethics  of  the  Greeks, 
then    was  based  on  the  conception  of  the  State,  as  the 
sphere  within  which  the  life  of  the  individual  is  to  be 
realized.      It  was  only  after  the  best  days  of  the  Greek 
state  were  over,  when  everything  was  beginning  to  be 
crushed  under  the  iron  heel  of  Rome,^  that  the  Stoics 
began  to  speak  of  a  7:oktrsta  too  xoffiioo,  and  to  think  of 
the  virtuous  man  (or  ''the  wise  man,"  as  they  called 
him)  as  one  who  is  bound  by  no  particular  social  ties, 
but  lives  an  independent  life  of  his  own.     Even  the 
Stoics,  however,  recognized  that  the  good   man   is   a 
citizen  ;  but  they  said  that  he  ought  to  be  "  a  citizen 
of  the  world,"  not  of  any  particular  community.     In 
this  way  his  social  relations  were  made  so  vague  that 
it  almost  seemed  as  if  they  might  be  altogether  ignored. 
There  was  a  great  elevation  in  much  of  the  teachhig 
of  the  Stoics  ;  but  its  want  of  any  definite  recognition 
of  social  relationships  made  it  cold  and  hard,  and  some- 
what destitute  of  content.     And  often  it  was  inflated 
with  a  certain  false  pride  in  the  independence  of  the 

individual. 

§  10.  Christian  Ethics.— Christianity  may  be  said  to 
have  gone  to  some  extent  in  the  same  direction  as 
Stoicism. 3  It  also  was  essentially  cosmopolitan,  and 
it  also  tended  to  insist  on  the  independent  life  of  the 
individual. 4     Each   one    must    "work    out   his    own 

1  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  51-70- 

2  See  Caird's  Hegel,  pp.  204-207,  Zeller's  Stoics,  Epicureans,  and 

Sceptics,  pp.  15-16,  and  Wallace's  Epicureanism,  chap.  1 

8  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  114-117- 

*  Christianity  insisted  on  the  dignity  of  man  as  man  more  strongly 


(I 


298 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CII.  I. 


II.] 


THE   SOCIAL   UNITY. 


299 


salvation,"  and  must  even  forsake  father  and  mother, 
"and  all   other  social  relationships,  in  order  to  follow 
after  the  ideal  life.     Christianity  represented  the  ideal 
life  also  as  an  imitation  of  a  divine  personality.     Still, 
this  was  only  one  aspect  of  Christianity.      It  was  no 
less  emphatic  in  its  insistence  on  the  doctrine  that  we 
are  "members  one  of  another,"  and  that  in  order  to 
attain  perfection  we  must  recognise  our  essential  unity 
both  with  each  other  and  with  God.     The  fact,  how- 
ever,  that  Christianity  had   to   make    its   way   in    an 
adverse  world  rendered  it  necessary  at  first  to>  insist 
somewhat  strongly  on  the  need  of  isolation.     Its  fol- 
lowers had  to  recognize  that  they  were  **not  of  the 
world,"  in  order  that  they  might  keep  their  ideals  pure. 
But  after  Christianity  had  to  a  great  extent  conquered 
the  world,  the  other  side— the  social  side— began  to 
come  out ;  and  it  is  perhaps  on  that  side  now  that  its 
significance  is  greatest.     Whether  we  look,  therefore, 
to  ancient  or  to  modern  systems  of  morals,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  see  that  the  recognition  of  the  essentially 
social  nature  of  man  plays  a  prominent  part  in  all  that 
is  best  in  them.     This  being  the  case,  it  will  be  well 
now  to  abandon  the  view  of  the  mere  individual  life 
as  that  which  is  to  be  perfected,  and  to  consider  rather 
what  is  involved  in  the  perfection  of  society. 

§  11.  The  Social  Universe.— We  must,  however,  first 
bring  this  point  of  view  into  relation  to  what  has  been 
already  said  with  respect  to  the  universes  in  which 
men  habitually  live.  The  life  of  every  man,  except  an 
absolute    madman,    constitutes  a  more    or   less    con- 

than  even  Stoicism  had  done.  Stoicism  proclaimed  the  dignity  only 
of  the  wise  man  or  philosopher  ;  whereas  Christianity  was  preached 
to  "  publicans  and  sinners." 


) 


sistent  whole.     His  actions  fall  within  a  more  or  less 
ordered  scheme  or  plan.     This  whole,  this  plan,  this 
totality  of  ends  which  a  man  pursues,  we  have  agreed 
to  describe  as   the  universe   within  which  he  lives. 
Now  this   universe  is   always   of  a  social   character. 
Even  the  most  original  and  even  the  most  misanthropic 
of  men  cannot  escape  from  the  influence  of  the  social 
environment  by  which  they  are  formed.     They  inevi-   • 
tably  imbibe  something  of  what  has  been  called  "the 
ethos  of  their  people,"  the  moral  point  of  view  adopted 
by  the  race  or  nation  or  body  of  men  among  whom, 
or  under  the  influence  of  whom,  their  lives  are  spent. 
This  moral  atmosphere  in  which  they  pass  their  lives 
supplies  the  main  part  of  that  universe  within  which 
their  desires  find  scope.     So  much  is  this  the  case  that 
a  man  always,  except  when  in  some  abnormal  state  of 
mind,  thinks  of  himself,  not  as  an  isolated  personality, 
but  as  a  member  of  some  body.     This  fact  is  em- 
phasized even  by  a  writer  in  some  respects  so  indi- 
vidualistic  as   Mill-     "The   social   state,     he  says, 
"  is  at  once  so  natural,  so  necessary,  and  so  habitual 
to  man,  that,  except  in  some  unusual  circumstances  or 
by  an   etfort  of  voluntary  abstraction   he  never  con- 
ceives himself  otherwise  than  as  a  member  of  a  body  ; 
and  this  association  is  riveted  more  and  more,  as  man- 
kind are  further    removed  from  the   state  of  savage 
independence.     Any  condition,  therefore,  which  is  es- 
sential to  a  state  of  society,  becomes  more  and  more  an 

1  This  element  in  Mill's  teaching  is  due,  as  he  partly  acknowledges 
two  pages  later,  to  the  study  of  Comte.  Cf.  his  ^^^^'f^fiy-^l^l^ 
iv  Mill  seems  never  to  have  made  any  serious  effort  to  reconcile 
Ihe  e^emenrwhich  he  derived  from  Comte  with  the  general  tenor 
of  his  philosophy.  »  Utilitarianism,  chap,  n,.,  pp.  4^1 


<    il 
t 


300 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CII.  I. 


12.] 


THE   SOCIAL   UNITY. 


301 


inseparable  part  of  every  person's  conception  of  the 
state  of  things  which  he  is  born  into,  and  which  is  the 
destiny  of  a  human  being."  For  this  reason,  when  we 
consider  any  large  society  of  human  beings,  bound 
together  by  a  common  language,  a  common  law,  a 
common  religion,  a  common  interest,  we  may  say  in 
a  broad  sense  that  they  all  live  habitually  within  the 
same  universe.  They  will  all  be  distinguished  no 
doubt  by  individual  peculiarities  ;  some  of  them  will 
be  more  and  some  less  affected  bv  the  common  ties  : 
and  even  from  year  to  year  and  from  day  to  day  the 
universe  of  each  will  be  liable  to  considerable  varia- 
tions. Still,  speaking  broadly,  what  the  Germans  call 
the  Sittcn,  i.  e.  the  moral  habitudes  of  a  man's  time 
and  place,  tend  to  overshadow  the  peculiarities  of  his 
individual  nature,  and  to  have  a  strong  determining 
influence  on  his  view  of  life  and  on  his  conception  of 
his  own  vocation.  The  necessity  of  making  himself 
intelligible  to  those  around  him,  the  immense  advan- 
tage of  understanding  them,  and  the  need  of  constantly 
co-operating  with  them,  would  of  themselves  be  suf- 
ficient to  bring  about  a  certain  homogeneity  among 
the  members  of  a  community.  And  when  we  add  to 
this  the  influences  of  heredity  and  education,  the  force 
is  overwhelming. 

§  12.  Society  an  Organism. — These  considerations 
may  partly  enable  us  to  understand  an  idea  which  has 
become  prevalent  in  recent  times  among  writers  of 
very  diverse  schools — the  idea,  namely,  that  a  society 
of  human  beings  is,  as  we  have  already  indicated,  to 
be  regarded  as  an  organic  unity.  The  meaning  of 
this  is,  broadly  speaking,  that  just  as  we  recognize  a 
common   life  animating  all  the  members  of  which  a 


livine  body  is  composed,  so  we  must  acknowledge  a 
similar  unity  among  the  members  of  a  human  society. 
TWs  idea  hks  sometimes  been  presented  in  the  form  of 
an  analogy  ;  i  e.  an  attempt  is  made  to  draw  parallels 
between   'he   structures   of  human  societies  and  the 
SXtions   of   animal   or  vegetable  bodies.-     Such 
ana  ogies  are  no  doubt  occasionally  sugges Uve  ;  but 
on  the  whole  they  supply  more  scope  for  n.genmty 
than  for  insight.     The  essential  point  seenis  to  be  that 
a  human  personality  is  never  an  isolated  phenomenon. 
It  iTven  inconceivable  apart  from  certam  relations  to 
other  personalities.     The  positive  content  of  a  man  s 
^orll  life  depends  on  these  relationships  :  apart    rom 
Tern  it  would  stagnate  and  die,  very  much  as  a  hmb 
dies  when  it  is  cut  off  from  its  organic  connection  with 
ZZ^y  of  which  it  forms  a  part.     The  whole  of  a 
man's  moral  life,  all  its  purposes,  all  its  meaning  and 
value'  receive  their  tone  and  colour  from  the  ideals, 
th      ;st   utions,   the  moral  habits,   among  which  h. 
%  develops.     This  being  so,  it  is  important,  in  de  J 
„.  with  the  moral  life,  not  merely  to  consider  the  life 
7an  individual  man,  but  to  have  regard    o  the  unity 
within  which  the  main  part  of  his  life  falls.      That. 

1  This  has  been  done,  for  instance,  ^l^^'^^^^ ^^Z^^:, 
Principles  0/  Sc«o/o^..vol.^.  part  u  ^  and  m  a   W|  more  ^^  ^^^,^^^^^ 

'^:^TT^Z'STS^'^^:i^^^  P-  '^)  thinks  it  pre. 
L'trtreifnoot  abiding  unity  in  which   individuals  :^ 

^Sfafthe  parts  a^^ 
2  On  the  organic  nature  of  society,  in  ,     philosophical 

Theory  of  thc.Statc,   «P«';'^">  f  \  ^^^,  ,      ^ssed  my  own  view  on 


302 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  I. 


^ 


spite  of  this  unity,  the  individual  has  yet  in  a  sense  a 
private  life  of  his  own  is  a  point  that  we  shall  have  to 
consider  at  a  later  stage. 

§  13,  Why  is  the  Social  Universe  to  be  Preferred  ? — 
Now  the  question  naturally  presents  itself  at  this  point 
— Why  should  the  social  universe  be  preferred  to  the 
universe  of  the  individual  consciousness  ?  The  answer, 
of  course,  from  the  point  of  view  that  we  have  now 
reached,  is  that  the  individual  self  is  in  its  nature  in- 
complete, and  requires  a  larger  whole  for  its  realization. 
Such  a  larger  whole  might  no  doubt  conceivably  be 
found  in  something  beyond  and  above  human  society  ; 
and,  if  we  were  inventing  a  new  morality,  we  might 
have  to  look  about  for  such  a  larger  universe.  But 
if  we  accept  the  point  of  view  of  development,  w^e 
must  accept  the  only  medium  within  which  any  actual 
process  of  moral  development  can  be  found.  If  it  is 
true  that  the  individual  has  no  reality  apart  from  the 
social  whole,  and  that  it  is  within  that  whole  that  his 
development  takes  place,  the  devotion  to  that  whole 
has  all  the  binding  force  which  belongs  to  devotion  to 
the  Ideal  Self.  We  cannot  separate  ourselves  from  the 
necessary  medium  of  our  evolution,  and  seek  to  per- 
fect ourselves  m  vacuo.  The  further  discussion  of  this 
question,  however,  would  lead  us  into  a  metaphysical 
investigation  of  the  nature  of  the  self,  its  relation  to 
the  social  whole  within  which  it  develops,  and  to  the 
iniverse  in  general.  Such  a  discussion  would  be 
ecessary  for  the  complete  establishment  of  the  validity 
of  the  moral  ideal.      But  it  lies  beyond  the  province  of 


chap.  iii.  The  student  of  the  present  handbook  will  probably  under- 
stand this  conception  better  after  reading  some  of  the  following 
chapters. 


I 


1 

1 


14.] 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITY. 


303  -7 


,  woru  which  <i°- -;.p;s:utr:iui-r- 

pHysics.     We  '^^^ -^^^^:^T^:t.^^^^  involved, 
eluding  chapter,  ^^  the  nature  ot  F^^^^  ^.^j^  ^^^^ 

re::ii  it^s  -^^-^::j^:r:::-so.^  u... 

§  !*•  ^--'"^  nh?soc"l  environment  in  the  forma- 
The  importance  of  the  so«^' ^  Conscience,  has 

tion  of  what  is  commonly  known  ^^^  .^ 

been  noticed  by  a  """^'^^fJ'J.  ;„  ^is  treatment  of 
emphasi.ed.  f-  -tanc.        M^^^^^^  ^,  ,,, 

the  moral  sanct  ons       w  .^  ^^^  ^t 

been  said  on  th:s  subje  t  by  h.m  ^^^^^^  ^^^ 

X:irr:Xro^CoUence,andtoindic.^ 

its  relations  to  our  f  °/^l  ";^''\i,,t  there  is  a  certain 
It  has  been  pomted  o^^^^l^'^^^^^ity-in  the  use  of 
ambiguity-indeed  a  ^-o-'^^^^^^^mcs  used  to  ex- 
theterm  "  Conscience.        It  J  ^^^  ^^^^, 

p,ess  the  fundamental  prmcpeso^^^^^^.^^^.p^^^ 
•udgmentrests:  at  other  times  texp  ^.^^^   .^ 

adopted  by  a  particular  mdiv.dual  . 

..     .•/  oUr>  Rradlev's  Ethical  Studies,  p.  180 
1  Utilitarianism,  chap.  h>-    f;L„vm   Clifford's  Lectures  and  Essays 

Stephen's  Science  of  £''"'."•  *^^i;"'")  and  Dr.  Starcke's  article  on 
("On  the  Scientific  Basis  of  Ethics  )  a  ^^^^.^^^  ^_^,    ^^ 

ixhe  conscience"  in  the  '"^'•"''^-"^   tn   ii-  RecMsphilosophie, 

-.oTfh^niea„ingoffhe.oralsanctions,seetheNoteaftheendo 

-l^^P-  "'•  R  nk  I    Chap  VI.    Cf.  also  Hegel's  Philosophy  of 

«  See  above,  Book  1.,  cnap. 

Right,  §§  I3fr-I39- 


304 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  I. 


mcenns  "a  particular  kind  of  pleasure  and  pain  felt  in 
perceiving  our   own  conformity  or  non-conformity  to 
principle."  '    The  last  seems  to  me  to  be  the  most  con- 
venient acceptation  of  the  term,='  except  that  I   should 
prefer  to  say  simply  that  it  is  a  feeling  of  pain   accom- 
panying  and   resulting   from    our   non-conformity  to 
principle.  3     This  sense  of  the  term  is  evidently  closely 
connected  with  the  second  sense  ;  for  the  principles  in 
connection  with  which  an  individual  feels  pain   are  of 
course  the  principles  recognized  by  him.     Nevertheless, 
the  first  sense  also  is  not  entirely  excluded  :  for  even  if 
an  individual  is  not  clearly  conscious  of  the  deeper 
principles  of  reason  on  which  the  final  moral  judgment 
depends,   he   will   yet  often  feel  a  vague  uneasiness 
when  he  goes  against  them.      It  is  difficult  to  believe, 
for  instance,  that   St.    Paul's  conscience   was   entirely 
at  rest  in  the  midst  of  his  persecuting  zeal,  even  if  he 
did  think  that  he  was  '  *  doing  God  service. "     However, 
in  general   no  doubt  the   pain   of  Conscience  accom- 
panies only  the  violation  of  clearly  recognized  duty. 

i  Starcke,  he.  cit,  p.  348. 

2  Chiefly  because  it  gives  the  most  definite  meaning.  When  we 
go  beyond  this,  we  land  ourselves  in  almost  hopeless  ambiguities. 

8  The  element  of  mystery  so  often  thought  to  attach  to  Conscience 
is,  I  think,  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  it  is  often  not  accompanied  by 
any  direct  perception  of  "  conformity  or  non-conformity  to  principle." 
A  man  has  often  simply  an  uneasy  feeling  of  having  gone  wrong, 
without  being  able  to  say  precisely  what  principle  he  has  violated.' 
Further,  I  am  doubtful  whether  it  is  correct  to  speak  of  a  pleasure  of 
Conscience.  Conformity  to  moral  principle  is  the  normal  state  ;  and 
this  may  be  regarded  as  the  neutral  point.  Any  violation  of  princi- 
ple, on  the  other  hand,  brings  pain.  The  performance  of  duty 
leaves  a  man  still  in  the  position  of  an  "unprofitable  servant." 
"  Spiritual  pride,"  of  course,  is  accompanied  by  a  certain  pleasure  ; 
but  should  this  be  described  as  a  pleasure  of  Conscience  ?  I  think 
Carlyle  was  right  on  this  point :  "  To  say  th^t  we  have  a  clear  coa- 


§14-] 


THE   SOCIAL   UNITY. 


305 


Now  we  have  seen  that  the  principles  of  duty  which 
an  individual  recognizes  are  largely  determined  by  the 
social  universe  which  he  inhabits.     Hence  his  con- 
science  also   must   be    largely    determined    by   this.^ 
A   man's  conscience,   we   may  say  broaSly,   attaches 
itself  to  that  system   of  things  which   he  regards  as 
highest.     There  is,  indeed,   a  certain  feeling  of  pain, 
andogous  to  that  of  Conscience,  in  connection  with 
every   universe   in   which   a   man   lives,    whether  he 
regards  it  as  the  highest  or  not.     Thus,  there  is  a  feel- 
ing of  pain  or  shame  ^  accompanying  the  violation  of 
rules  of  etiquette  or  good  taste,  or  even  accompanying 
the  consciousness  of  any  physical  defect  or  awkward- 
science  is  to  utter  a  solecism ;  had  we  never  sinned,  we  should 
have  had  no  conscience.      See   his    Essay  on  "  Characteristics 
Of  course,  there  is  a  certain  gratification  accompanying  the  fulhl- 
ment  of  unaccustomed  duties.    If  a  man  gets  drunk  only  twice  in 
the  course  of  the  week,  instead  of  three  times  as  usual,  or  if  he  tells 
the  truth  when  there  was  a  strong  temptation  to  he,  he  may  feel 
pleased  in  reviewing  his  action.   But  there  does  not  appear  to  be  he 
same  spontaneity  and  immediacy  in  this  feeling  as  there  is  in  the 
case  of  the  corresponding  pain  ;  nor  is  its  character  so  purely  moral. 
It  is  more  akin  to  the  pleasure  of  solving  a  difficult  problem.    I  sus- 
pect  that  just  as  there  is  no  pleasure  of  the  teeth,  corresponding  to 
toothache ;  so  there  is,  strictly  speaking,  no  pleasure  of  the  con- 
science,  corresponding  to  its  characteristic  pain. 

1  Hence  Clifford's  idea  of  a  "  tribal  self  "-a  self  which  belongs  to 
a  man's  tribe  or  society,  and  to  which  his  mere  individual  self  is 
subordinate.  Clifford  says,  as  we  have  seen,  that  a  man's  conscience 
is  "  the  voice  of  his  tribal  self."  The  pain  of  his  conscience  is  equiv- 
alent to  his  saying  to  himself,  "  In  the  name  of  my  tribe,  I  hate  my- 
self for  this  treason  which  I  have  done."  See  above,  Book  I., 
chap  V    and  cf.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  157-9- 

2  The  Greek  word  alSoi?,  usually  translated  "shame,"  seems  to  be 
very  neady  equivalent  to  what  we  understand  by  Conscience,  at 
least  in  one  of  its  aspects.  Cf.  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  321, 
and  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,\o\.  ii..pp.  285-6. 

Eth.  20 


3o6 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  I. 


14.] 


THE  SOCIAL  UNITY. 


307 


ness,  even  if  we  are  aware,  not  only  that  the  universe 
within  which  these  things  lie  is  not  of  supreme  impor- 
tance, but  even  that  it  does  not  lie  within  the  power 
of  our  will  to  avoid  such  deficiencies.  Such  a  feeling 
might  be  called  a  ^w^s/'-Conscience.'  On  reflection  we 
perceive  either  that  we  are  not  responsible  for  such 
shortcomings,  or  that  they  are  not  of  serious  moral 
importance  ;  but  the  feeling  at  the  moment  is  scarcely 
distinguishable  from  that  of  Conscience  proper.  Some- 
times such  a  feeling  may  even  conflict  with  Conscience. 
Thus,  the  performance  of  duty  may  involve  a  violation 
of  etiquette  ;  so  that,  in  whichever  way  we  act,  we  are 
bound  to  have  the  pain  either  of  Conscience  or  of  quasi- 
Conscience.  Again,  Conscience  sometimes  attaches 
itself  to  a  universe  which  has  been  transcended. 
When  we  have  recently  passed  from  one  universe  to 
another.  Conscience  will  generally  be  found  to  have 
lagged  a  little  behind,  and  to  attach  itself  to  the  older 
universe  rather  than  to  the  newer  one.  "Feeling,"  as 
Mr.  Muirhead  says,  ^  "  is  the  conservative  element  in 
human    life."      It    does    not    attach    itself    to    a   new 

1  An  excellent  illustration  of  this  is  given  by  Mr.  Muirhead  {Ele- 
ments of  Ethics,  p.  77)  in  an  extract  from  Prof.  Royce's  Religious 
Aspect  of  Philosophy  (pp.  53-4):  "You  ride,  using  another  man's 
season  ticket,  or  you  tell  a  white  lie,  or  speak  ?.n  unkind  word,  and 
conscience,  if  a  little  used  to  such  things,  never  winces.  But  you 
bow  to  the  wrong  man  in  the  street,  or  you  mispronounce  a  word, 
or  you  tip  over  a  glass  of  water,  and  then  you  agonize  about  your 
shortcoming  all  day  long  ;  yes,  from  time  to  time  for  weeks.  Such 
an  impartial  judge  is  the  feeling  of  what  you  ought  to  have  done.' 
For  similar  illustrations,  see  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  p.  323.  and 
Spencer's  Principles  of  Ethics,  p.  337. 

a  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  80.  Cf  the  saying  of  Mr.  Jacobs,  quoted 
by  Miss  Wedgwood  {The  Moral  Ideal,  p.  233).^  "The  thoughts  of  one 
generation  form  the  feelings  of  its  successor  " 


universe,  until  we  have  thoroughly  lived  mto  it  and 
made  ourselves  at  home  in  it ;  nor  does  it  sever  itself 
from  an  old  universe,  until  we  have  thoroughly  broken 
off  our  connection  with  it.     Hence  a  man  will  often 
feel  a  pain  of  Conscience,  or  ^«^sz-Conscience,  in  doing 
an  action  which  his  reason  has  taught  him  to  regard  as 
perfectly  allowable  '  or  even  as  a  positive  duty  ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  he   will   often  be  able   to  violate 
a  recently  discovered  obligation  without  feeling  any 
pain.^     In  general,  however,  the  pains  of  Conscience 
attend  any  inconsistency  with  the  principles  which  we 
recognize  as  highest ;  and  these,  in  general,    are  the 
principles   recognized    as   binding    within    the    social 
universe  in  which  we  habitually  live.  3 

With  these  remarks,  we  may  pass  on  to  the  more 
detailed  consideration  of  social  ethics-/,  e.  to  the  con- 
sideration  of  the  moral  order  within  which  the  life  of 
1 "  The  contradiction  between  reason  and  feeling  which  some  of 
us  will  recollect,  when  first  we  permitted  ourselves  to  take  a  row  or 
attend  a  concert  on  Sunday,  is  a  good  example  from  contemporary 
life"(Muirhead's£/£;me'»fso/£//ncs,p.  80). 

2  Hence,  partly,  the  frequency  of  "  back-shdmg "  m  converts  to 
new  principles.  Conscience  does  not  respond  to  their  shortcom- 
Tngl  with  sufficient  readiness.  It  may  be  noted  here  also  that  it  is 
offen  possible  to  stifle  Conscience  by  transferring  ourselves  from 
one  universe  to  another.  Thus,  a  man  may  P^^^^"^'.;;"^^;^" 
fluence  of  fanatical  zeal,  acts  of  cruelty  fron.  which,  in  his  normal 
state,  he  would  shrink  in  horror.  He  stifles  Conscience  by  escaping 
from  the  universe  in  which  such  acts  are  condemned  into  orie  in 
which  they  are  rather  approved.  A  good  ^"ustration  of  this  is 
given  by  Macaulay  in  his  account  of  the  state  of  mmd  of  the  Master 
of  Stairin  sanctioning  the  massacre  of  Glencoe  {^story  of  England, 

'"Tfo™  discussion  of  the  subject  of  Conscience,  see  Porter's 
Element  of  Moral  Science,  Part  I.,  chap,  xvi.,  Dewey's  Outltnes  oj 
SpP  182-206,  and  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  73-84and 

238-242. 


V: 

1' 


3o8 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  I. 


the  individual  is  spent,  and  of  the  relation  of  the  indi- 
vidual life  to  that  moral  order.  Of  course  this  can  be 
done,  in  such  a  work  as  this,  only  in  the  most  sketchy 
fashion.  But  some  remarks  on  the  ethical  significance 
of  the  recognized  moral  institutions,  duties  and  virtues, 
may  be  found  helpful. 


I-] 


MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


309 


CHAPTER  II. 
MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 

8  1    The  Social  Imperative. -We  have  seen  to  some 
extent  what  the  nature  of  the   "  ought"  is      It  .s,  as 
we  may  say,  the  hiW  imposed  by  our  ideal  self  upon 
our  actual  self.     Since,  however,  the  ideal  self  is  the 
rational  self,  and  since  the  rational  self  is  not  realized 
in   isolation,    but   in    a   society  of  human   beings,   i* 
follows  that  this  "ought"  is  imposed  on  societies  as 
well  as  on  individuals.     As  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  says 
"we  must  consider  the  ideal  man  as  existing  m  the 
ideal  social  state";  and  in  considering  such  an  ideal 
we  pass  a  criticism  not  only  on  existing  men,  but  on 
existing  social  states.     Not  only  can  we  say  that  an 
individual  oughtio  act  in  such  and  such  a  way,  but  we 
can  also  say  that  a  society  ought  to  have  such  and  such 
a  constitution.^     In  so  far  as  an  individual  acts  as  he 
ought  to  act,  we  say  that  his  conduct  is  right,  and  that 
he  is  a  good,  upright,  or  moral  man.     In  so  far  as  a 
society  is  constituted  as  it  ought  to  be,  we  say  thatit  is 
a  well-ordered  society,  and  that  its  constitution  is  just. 
In  each  case  we  compare   actually  existing  men   or 
states  with  the  ideal  of  a  rational  man  and  a  rationally 

I  Data  of  Ethics,  chap,  xvi.,  §  106. 

.It  mav  be  asked,  On  whom  is  this  "ought"  miposed?  The 
answe"fs!on  the  sodety  as  a  whole,  and  more  part.cularly  on  .ts 
politicians  and  other  "  active  citizens. 


310 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


I 


§3-] 


MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


311 


constituted  state.  The  latter  of  these  we  must  now 
briefly  consider. ' 

§2.  Justice.  —  ''Blessed,"  it  is  said,  "are  they  that 
hunger  and  thirst  after  justice. "  *  But  perhaps  it  is  more 
easy  to  hunger  and  thirst  after  it  than  to  define  pre- 
cisely what  it  means.  Here,  at  any  rate,  we  can  only 
indicate  its  nature  in  the  vaguest  and  most  general 
way.  For  a  fuller  treatment  reference  must  be  made 
to  works  on  Politics. 

A  just  arrangement  of  society  may  be  briefly  defined 
as  one  in  which  the  ideal  life  of  all  its  members  is 
promoted  as  efficiently  as  possible.  The  constitution 
of  a  society  is,  therefore,  unjust  when  large  classes  in 
it  are  so  enslaved  by  others  as  to  be  unable  to  develop 
their  own  lives.  It  is  unjust,  for  instance,  when  there 
is  any  class  in  it  so  poor,  or  so  hard-worked,  or  so 
dependent  on  others,  as  to  be  unable  to  cultivate  their 
faculties  and  make  progress  towards  the  perfection  of 

1  A  complete  discussion  of  this  subject  belongs  rather  to  Politics 
or  Social  Philosophy  than  to  Ethics.  But  it  seems  necessary  to 
consider  it  here,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  dealt  with  from  a  purely 
ethical  point  of  view.  Some  of  the  points  dealt  with  here  are  some- 
what more  fully  discussed  in  my  Introduction  to  Social  Philosophy, 
chaps.  V.  and  vi.  English  writers  on  Ethics  have,  as  a  rule,  not  given 
much  attention  to  the  subjects  referred  to  in  this  chapter.  Reference 
may,  however,  be  made  to  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  chap,  iii., 
Porter's  Elements  of  Moral  Science,  Part.  II.,  chaps,  xiii.— xvi.,  Rick- 
aby's  Moral  Philosophy,  and  Clark  Murray's  Introduction  to  Ethics, 
Book  II.,  Part  II.,  chap.  i.  For  fuller  treatment  the  student  must 
consult  such  works  as  those  of  Hoffding  and  Paulsen.  Some  of  the 
points  are  also  referred  to  by  Prof.  Gizycki,  whose  work  has  been 
adapted  for  the  use  of  English  readers  by  Dr.  Stanton  Coit.  Hegel's 
Philosophic  des  Rcchts  must,  however,  still  be  regarded  as  the  model 
for  the  treatment  of  this  whole  subject.  It  has  recently  been  trans- 
lated into  English  by  Professor  Dyde. 

^  The  Greek  word  fii/catoo-vi/T;,  translated  "  righteousness,"  may 
equally  well  be  rendered  by  "justice." 


thPir  nature  ■     It  is  unjust  when  the  idle  are  protected 
I'Tset  inpower.  and\he  laborious  are  crushed  down 

^lolr'Jetciety  from  such  arrangements  as  these  has 

been  one  of  the  chief  efforts,  perhaps  the  chief  effort,  of 
been  one  <j  ^  certamly 

the  wise  and  good  m  all  ages  ,  ana  i 
fpw  thines  to  which  a  student  of  Apphed  Ethics  should 
Se  moS  attention  than  the  methods  by  which  this 
has  bTen  and  may  still  be  done.  The  subject  is,  how- 
t:  r  much  too  complicated  for  such  an  elementary 
trea  ise  as  this,  or  indeed  for  any  treatise  ;  and  all  that 
.ran  here  di  is  to  indicate  some  of  the  mam  points 
Jl  have  t"  t  attended  to  in  constructing  a  just  order 

""'Ttl'^  AKO  P.BX..C  OP.Kio..-The  first  thing  to  be 
I  3.  Law  AN  ^^^^  ement  of  society  can  be 

observed  is  that  a  just  dua  s  savins-  has 

only  to  a  certain   extent  enforced.     The  saying  n 

often  been  quoted— 

"  How  small  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure  _ 

That  part  which  kings  or  laws  can  cause  or  cure . 

.  .  •.  ■  ,rtlv  true  if  it  be  taken  to  apply  simply  to 
^"^  ■'  V  Tfl  be  d  iectly  and  immediately  accom- 
that  which  =^".^^,^"^f  "^L-iws  are  inefficient  when  a 
plished  by  positive  laws.     La\\  s  are 

a  The  accounts  of  1"^>'^« /"',""  ^  ,d     For  more  modern  discus- 

and  Ethics)  have  "'^^^■•^''"""^"'Pd  to  Mill's  VtUitariamsm,  chap.  v. 
sions,  the  student  may  be  re  erred  to  M.  ^^^  ^^^^^.^^^^  ^f 

Sidgwick's  M.tto*  0/ £ /"c..  Book  ni  c  ^  P  _^^  ^^^p^^^,^ 5^.  ^^^ 
Political  Economy,  Book  III.,  chaps^  ^  ^^  ^^^  ^^^  ^j  ^^^^  ^^apter. 
of  Ethics,  chap,  v.,  §§  35-39-    ^«^ 


312 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


people  is  by  nature  lawless  ;  and  when  a  people  has 
become  orderly  or  wise,  laws  may  often  be  allowed  to 
sink  into  abeyance.     The  conditions  of  life  are  con- 
tinually   changing,    and    positive    laws    which    were 
beneficial  at  one  time  begin  gradually  to  have  a  perni- 
cious effect.      It  is,  consequently,  in  many  departments 
of  life  of  far  more  importance  to  try  to  develop  good 
habits  of  action   and  of  opinion  in   a  people  than  to 
furnish  it  with   hard   and   fast   positive   enactments. » 
Nevertheless,  the  sphere  of  positive  law  is  a  great  one. 
Public  opinion  grows  very  slowly,  and  there  are  always 
considerable  bodies  in  a  community  who  are  unaffected 
by  it,  unless  it  takes  the  form  of  definite  laws,   with 
punishments   attached.     Sometimes,    after   such   laws 
have  fulfilled  their  purpose,   it  becomes  desirable  to 
repeal  them.     St.    Paul  said  of  the  Jewish   law   that 
it  was  "a  schoolmaster  to  lead  men  to  Christ";  mean- 
ing that  as  soon  as  men  grasped  the  true  meaning  of 
the  moral  ideal  they  could  dispense  with  the  narrow 
injunctions    of   the    law,    which,    nevertheless,     were 
necessary  as  a  preparation.     So  it  is  with  nearly  all 
laws.     They  are  too  rigid  and  formal  for  human  beings, 
as  soon  as  they  attain  to  true  freedom  ;  but  they  are 
necessary  at   first    as   a   check    upon    licentiousness. 
What  men  do  at  first  from  fear,  they  learn  by  and  by 
to  do  from  habit,  and  afterwards  from  conscious  will. 
Law  comes  first,  then  habit,  then  virtue.* 

1  This  seems  to  express  the  element  of  truth  in  much  of  what  is 
said  by  Mr.  H.  Spencer  in  his  famous,  but  extremely  one-sided  book, 
The  Man  versus  the  State.  Some  aspects  of  the  same  point  are 
brought  out,  in  a  more  guarded  way,  in  Aspects  of  the  Social  Problem, 
edited  by  Dr.  Bosanquet. 

2  Mr.M  uirhead  quotes  {Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  93,  note),  a  story  about 
Connop  Thirhvall.  "  who  on  one  occasion  became    involved  in  a 


4.1 


MORAL   INSTITUTIONS. 


313 


S  4.  Rights  and  Obligations. -The  forces  of  law  and 
of  public  opinion  are  mainly  concerned  with  the  estab- 
lishment of  men's  rights  and  obligations.     These  terms 
are  strictly  correlative.     Every  right  brings  an  obl.ga- 
tion  with  it ;  and  that  not  merely  in  the  obvious  sense 
that  when  one  man  has  a  right  other  men  are  under  an 
obligation  to  respect  it,  but  also  in  the  more  subtle 
sense  that  when  a  man  has  a  right  he  is  thereby  laid 
under  an  obligation  to  employ  it  for  the  general  good^ 
This  fact  is  concealed  from  many  mens  mmds  through 
a  certain  confusion   between  legal   and  moral  obliga- 
tion     It  is  generally  convenient  to  enforce   the  ob- 
servance of  rights  by  positive  laws  ;    whereas   it  is 
not  generally  convenient  to  enforce  the  corresponding 
obligation.     Hence  it  comes  to  be  thought  that  there  is 
no  obligation  at  all.  For  instance,  it  is  convenient  to  pro- 
tect property  ;  whereas  it   would  be  very  troublesome 
and  dangerous  to  try  to   compel  men  to  use  their  pro- 
nertv  wisely-and  indeed  any  such  attempt,  beyond 
certain  narrow  limits,  is  almost  bound  to  defeat  its  own 
ends      Hence  it  comes  to  be  said  that  a  man   '  may 
do  what  he  likes  with  his  own."     Zegaily,  he  may  ; 
but  mora/Iy,  he  is  under  the  obligation  to  use  his  own 
for  the  general  good,  just  as  strictly  as  if  it  were  an- 
other's.    A  man's  rights,  in  fact,  are  nothing  more  than 
those  things  which,  for  the  sake  of  the  general  good,  it 
is  convenient  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  possess. 

discussion  with  the  late  Dr.  Christopher  Wordsworth,  BishoP  «' 
Lincoln  "hen  the  latter  was  residing  at  Trinity  College,  about  he 
Sion  of  enforced  attendance  at  chapel.  ' '' j-^^oice  -d^he 
BishoD  between  compulsory  religion  and  no  religion  at  all.  1  he 
mstction  replied  Thirlwall,  Ms  too  subtle  'o^^,-/  -"'^^jS-P, 
The  same  might  be  said  of  compulsory  morality  :  it  is  equivalent 


314 


ETHICS. 


[bk.  III.,  cn.  II. 


§50 


MORAL   INSTITUTIONS. 


315 


And  since  it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  general  good  that  he 
possesses  them,  he  is  bound  to  use  them  for  that  end. 
By  himself,  a  man  has  no  right  to  anything  whatever. 
He  is  a  part  of  a  social  whole  ;  and  he  has  a  right  only 
to  that  which  it  is  for  the  good  of  the  whole  that  he 
should  have.  Let  us  consider  very  briefly  the  nature 
of  some  of  the  more  important  of  these  rights. 

§5.  The  Rights  of  Man.  {a)  Lj/e.— The  first  of 
human  rights  is  the  right  to  live.  This  right  follows  at 
once  from  the  fact  that  the  moral  end  is  a  personal  one 
—a  form  of  self-realization.  If  the  end  which  men 
sought  were  some  impersonal  object,  life  might  reason- 
ably be  sacrificed  to  that.  And,  indeed,  as  the  self  to 
be  realized  is  the  social  self,  the  individual  will  some- 
times be  justified  in  sacrificing  his  life  for  the  sake  of 
his  society.  But  such  cases  are  exceptional.  As  a 
rule,  the  human  good  requires  the  continuance  of  life 
for  its  realization.  Hence  it  is  important  that  the 
sacredness  of  life  should  be  recognized.  In  some  prim- 
itive forms  of  society  even  this  fundamental  right  is 
not  acknowledged.  Children  are  frequently  exposed, 
and  captives  in  war  are  put  to  death  without  hesita- 
tion. And  even  in  partly  civilized  communities  the 
sacredness  of  life  is  sometimes  very  lightly  treated— 
e.  g.  where  the  practice  of  duelling  is  permitted.  In- 
deed if  the  value  of  life  were  fully  appreciated,  there 
can  be  little  doubt  that  even  war  would  soon  be  abo- 
lished among  civilized  nations.     At  present,  however, 

to  no  morality  at  all."  This  is  of  course  true  ;  yet  compulsory 
morality  may  form  an  education  towards  true  morality.  This  would 
also  have  been  at  least  a  partial  answer  to  Thirhvall.  Cf.  Hoff- 
ding's  Outlines  of  Psychology,  p.  76.  Mr.  Muirhead  notices  the  quali- 
fication at  a  later  stage,  pp.  179-180. 


it  remains  a  true  maxim.  Si  vis  pacem  para  helium, 
h^2:xx.  it  must  be  observed  that  the  right  of  life  cannot 
be  said  to  be  really  secured  to  all  the  citizens  of  a  com- 
munity unless  the  means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood  are 
secured.  The  right  to  live  thus  seems  to  involve  the 
ricrht  to  labour.'  ^  ..      .. 

The  ri-ht  of  life,  like  all  rights,  brmgs  an  obligation 
with  'M^viz.  the  obligation  of  treating  life,  both  ones 
own  and  that  of  others,  as  a  sacred  thing.  He  who 
violates  this  obligation-e.  g.  by  murder --forfeits 
the    right  of  life,   and  may  legitimately  be  deprived 

°  (M  Freedom.-'^\^^  next  right  is  that  of  freedom. 
The  necessity  of  this  rests  mainly  on  the  fact  that  the 
moral  ideal  has  to  be  realized  by  the  individual  will. 
Hence  the  individual,  in  order  to  realize  his  supreme 
end,  must  be  free  to  exercise  his  will.  The  recognition 
of  this  right  usually  comes  much  later  than  that  of  life.' 
Slavery  existed  long  after  the  stage  at  which  prisoners 

1  This  Doint  was  emphasized  by  Louis  Blanc  and  some  other 
socHU  tic  °v  e  ^  The  question  how  far,  and  by  what  means  such 
socahsfc  write,  s  4  ^^^.^^_^^  on  Politics  and  Eco- 

Ll'cl  whtValnmutl  probabiy  hand  ,t  over  in  the  end  to  the  prac 

Oriental  nations  recognized  only  that  -"^;^  ^^^f -^J-^V,  free-°L' 
the  Greeks  on  the  other  hand,  recognized  that  some  are  tree  oiz. 
^  rrpek  cifeens  themselves-while  Barbarians  were  thought  to 
u  ^!nv  fitted  for  slavery  •  while  it  has  been  reserved  for  modern 
be  naturally  fi"«d/or slavery    rhristianity  to  demand  that  M  shall 

'4Tr™   dl^n^d-^-^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

of  the  Relormation.    Sometimes  it  is  even  pushed  to  an  extreme- 
!  K     Rn?,Tau  and  by  the  Economists  of  the  lahsczjanc  school. 

see  Ritchie's  Prindtles  of  State  Interference, 


3i6 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


of  war  were  put  to  death  ;  and  even  now,  after  the 
abolition  of  slavery,  the  conditions  of  contract  with 
regard  to  labour  and  to  property  are  often  of  such  a 
kind  as  seriously  to  interfere  with  men's  liberty  in  the 
conduct  of  their  lives.  Of  course  freedom  in  any  ab- 
solute sense  is  not  possible,  and  ought  not  to  be  aimed 
at.  It  can  never  be  permissible  in  any  well-ordered 
community  that  its  members  should  do  as  they  please. 
The  right  which  it  is  desirable  to  secure  is  the  right  of 
having  the  free  development  of  one's  life  as  little  inter- 
fered with  as  is  possible,  consistently  with  the  main- 
tenance of  social  order. 

The  right  of  freedom  brings  with  it  the  obligation  of 
using  one's  freedom  for  the  attainment  of  rational  ends. 
Milton  rightly  said  of  liberty,  "  who  love  that  must 
first  be  wise  and  good."'  It  is  only  on  this  assump- 
tion that  liberty  can  be  granted  in  a  well-ordered  state. 
Hence  the  slowness  in  the  acquisition  of  freedom  is 
not  without  justification.  Freedom  is  not  a  com- 
modity that  can  be  bought  or  given  :  it  must  be 
earned. 

(c)  Property, — The  right  of  property  may  almost  be 
regarded  as  part  of  the  right  of  freedom.  Nearly  all 
the  ends  at  which  a  man  can  aim  require  instruments  ; 
and  if  a  man  has  not  the  right  to  use  these  instru- 
ments, his  liberty  of  pursuing  the  ends  is  practically 
rendered  void.  Since,  however,  instruments — espe- 
cially such  instruments  as  the  soil  of  a  country — are 
limited  in   amount,  it   becomes  a  difficult  question  to 


1  C/.  also  what  Milton  says  on  this  point  in  his  Tenure  of  Kings  and 
Magistrates,  §  i :  "  None  can  love  freedom  heartily,  but  good  men : 
the  rest  love  not  freedom,  but  licence  ;  which  never  hath  more  scope 
or  more  indulgence  than  under  tyrants." 


§5-] 


MORAL   INSTITUTIONS. 


317 


decide  how  the  use  of  them  is  to  be  apportioned  among 
the  members  of  a  community.  If  their  use  is  reserved 
for  a  few.  the  great  majority  of  the  citizens  are  to  a 
certain  extent  deprived  of  their  liberty.  The  discus- 
sion of  this  question,  however,  must  be  left  to  wnters 
on  Politics.  From  a  purely  ethical  point  of  vievv,  we 
can  only  insist  on  the  importance  of  *«  right  of  pro- 
perty,  as  a  means  of  securing  the  possibility  of  a  free 

development  of  life.  ,  ,.     x-       * 

The  right  of  property  involves  the  obligation  to  use 
it  wisely  for  the  general  good.     In  communities  where 
the  fulfilment  of  this  obligation  cannot  in  the  mam  be 
relied  on,  the  right  of  property  cannot  be  S-"  -i'     I'^ 
primitive  communities   there   is   practically    no   su  h 
rieht      Everything  is  possessed  in  common.     It  is  only 
afmen  become  civilized  and  educated  that  they  begin 
to  be  capable  of  being  entrusted  with  property  ;  and 
even  then  it  is  usually  necessary  that  the  right  should 
be  Carefully  guarded  against  misuse.-     Some  writers 
Te  ?  Hato)  have  thought  that  in  an  ideal  state  there 
ought  to  be  a   community  of  goods,  and  no  right  of 
private  property.'    But  this  appears  to  be  a  mistake. 

1  •   ^  f.r^m  ^  nnrelv  ethical  point  of  view,  it  may  be 

M 'ff  I  ma'n  Jfat  no  Tight  to  an'y  kind  of  property  except  that 
said  that  a  man  has  no  ngut  i         j  Hence  a 

which  he  has  made  an  ee^^^^^^ 

German  wnter,  9;!^^^,"^^^^  I  possess  nothing  but  what  I 

das  was  ich  bin    (   Strictly  speaMu^     F  .^ 

.,^-  (Fifil^ifun^iu  die  Moralwissenschajt,  p.  172;.     oui  ui 
am  ;  {tinleitungtu  uu.  nrinciple  in  practical  politics. 

Thti^Lrn^rhowei:"^^- "-  -  -  ---' '°  "" 

Tsr;hirL,-,M,c,  boous  ly.  an<t  --j^^f^:^;  ^ 

Plato  intended  '"^^^^^^^^f/.^Pr;^  communism,  see  Morris's 
altogether  clear.    I*  or  a  recem  auvuca  y 

News  from  Nowhere. 


3i8 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


Aristotle  was  probably  right  in  thinking'  rather  that  in 
an  ideal  state  every  one  should  have  the  free  use  of  the 
necessary  instruments,^  but  should  be  taught  to  use 
them  for  the  common  good. 

{(I)  Co7t/rac/.— Another  important  right  is  the  rigKtto 
the  fulfilment  of  contracts.  If  one  man  engages  to 
render  certain  services  to  another,  the  second  has  the 
right  to  receive  these  services.  In  primitive  societies 
there  is  scarcely  any  such  thing  as  contract.  The  rela- 
tions of  men  to  one  another  are  fixed  almost  from  their 
birth,  and  are  altered  only  by  force.  3  Hence  it  has 
been  said^  that  societies  develop  ''from  status  to  con- 
tract." 

The  right  of  contract  involves  the  obligation  to  enter 
into  no  contracts  except  those  that  can  be  reasonably 
fulfilled.  A  man  is  not  at  liberty,  for  instance,  to  con- 
tract himself  into  slavery.  5  Nor  is  anyone  entitled, 
even  if  he  were  able,  to  enter  into  such  a  contract  as 
that  of  Faust  with  Mephistopheles.  Hence  the  right 
of  contract,  like  that  of  property,  is  possible  only  in  a 

T^  Politics,  II.,  V. 

2  Whether  land,  and  other  forms  of  property  that  are  not  capable 
of  being  indefinitely  multiplied,  can  be  dealt  with  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple, is  a  much  more  difficult  question. 

a  On  the  other  hand,  in  modern  times,  contract  has  become  so 
common  a  method  of  entering  into  relationship,  that  some  writers 
have  been  tempted  to  think  that  all  relationships  are  founded  on 
such  engagements.  The  State,  for  instance,  was  said  to  rest  on  a 
"social  contract."  Hobbes  and  Rousseau  were  the  chief  upholders 
of  this  view.  An  eloquent  attack  was  made  on  it  by  Burke  in  his 
Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France.  See  Muirhead's  Elements  of 
Ethics,  p.  177,  note.  There  is  a  good  criticism  in  Hume's  Essays 
("  Of  the  Original  Contract ").  -*  Maine's  Ancient  Law,  chap.  v. 

5  Hence  the  fallacy  of  Carlyle's  view,  that  slavery  consists  simply 
in  hiring  a  man's  services  for  life.  See  his  Latter-Day  Pamphlets.  A 
man  has  no  right  to  contract  away  his  own  freedom. 


§6.1 


MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


319 


highly-developed  community,  and  even  then  requires 
considerable  safeguards.  - 

ie\  Education.-I^^  last  right  which  it  seems  neces- 
sary to  notice  here,  is  the  right  of  education.     In  this 
case  the  right  and  obligation  are  so  closely  united  that 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  distinguish  them.     Every  one 
we  may  say,  has  both  the  right  and  the  obligation  of 
being  educated  according  to  his  capacity  ;  since  educa- 
tion is  necessary  for  the  realization  of  the  rational  self 
This  is  a  right  which  has  been  but  tardily  recognized 
even  in  some  highly-civilized  countries  ;  and  even  now 
in  many  of  them  the  highest  kinds  of  education  are 
practically  inaccessible  to  the  mass  of  the  people.    Bu 
it  is  clear  that  in  a  well-ordered  state  every  one  ought 
to  have  the  means  of  developing  his  faculties  to  the 

best  advantage. 

8  6  Ultimate  Meaning  of  Rights  and  Obligations.— 
A  little  reflection  may  convince  us  that  the  ultimate 
significance  of  rights  and  obligations  is  simply  this. 
We  have  a  right  to  the  means  that  are  necessary  for 
the  development  of  our  lives  in  the  direction  that  is 
best  for  the  highest  good  of  the  community  of  which 
we  are  members  ;  and  we  are  under  the  obligation  to 
use  the  means  in  the  best  way  for  the  attainment  of 

this  end.^ 

1  Men  who  are  in  a  disadvantageous  position  (owing  to  poverty, 
for  instance)  are  apt  to  be  induced  to  form  -"tracts  on  unfair  con^ 
ditions.    It  is  desirable  tliat  they  should  be,  as  far  as  possible,  guarded 

'?oTcotseIrefer  hereto  rights  and  obligationsm  the  ethical 
sense.  To  what  extent,and  by  what  means,  these  "gWs  and  obhga^ 
tions  are  to  be  acknowledged  and  enforced  m  ^='";;  f 'f'^^^ 
questions  for  the  political  philosopher.  On  these  ^"bjecs  reference 
may  be  made  to  Sidgwick's  EUmcnU  ofPobttcs.  especially  chaps,  nt 
— vi.,  and  chap.  x. 


320 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


§  7.  Social  Institutions.— There  are  various  ways 
in  which  men  group  themselves  together  in  a  society  ; 
and  the  relations  in  which  they  are  thus  brought  to 
one  another  are  often  of  so  much  ethical  significance 
that  it  is  desirable  to  notice  briefly  some  of  the  more 
important  of  them. 

(a)  The  Fami'/y.— -The  family  is  based  on  natural 
affection.  Its  chief  objects  are  to  provide  adequate 
protection  and  care  for  the  helplessness  of  childhood, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  provide  an  adequate  sphere 
for  the  highest  forms  of  friendship  and  love.  It  is 
thought  that  as  a  rule  the  former  object  can  be  better 
secured  by  the  affection  of  the  parents  than  it  could  be 
by  any  state  arrangements  ; '  and  that  the  latter  object 
is  best  fulfilled  within  a  narrow  circle.*  The  control 
of  parents,  however,  requires  to  be  in  many  ways 
limited.  Thus  it  seems  necessary  to  enforce  the  proper 
education  of  children,  and  to  prevent  them  from  being 
employed  in  unsuitable  work  at  too  early  an  age. 
The  relation  of  husband  and  wife  in  the  family  is  pro- 
perly one  of  equality  ;  but  where  this  is  not  secured 
by  mutual  affection,  it  seems  impossible  for  any  state 
regulations  to  prevent  the  subordination  of  one  to  the 
other,    without  an  intolerable  interference   with   indi- 

1  Plato,  however,  thought  otherwise.    See  his  Republic,  Book  V. 

2  Among  the  Greeks,  in  the  classical  age,  the  highest  forms  of 
friendship  were  practically  always  between  men.  The  low  position 
of  women  prevented  them  from  sharing  in  the  higher  life  of  the 
citizen.  Greek  views  of  the  family  life  are  almost  entirely  vitiated 
by  this  fact ;  just  as  their  views  of  industrial  life  are  vitiated  by  their 
acceptance  of  slavery,  and  by  their  contempt  for  all  forms  of  manual 
labour  except  agriculture.  On  the  Family,  see  Hegel's  Philosophy 
of  Right;  also  Rickaby's  Moral  Philosophy,  Part  II.,  chap,  vi.,  and 
Devas's  Studies  of  Family  Life.  Aristotle's  treatment  of  the  subject 
in  the  first  two  Books  of  the  Politics  is  still  highly  suggestive. 


§7.] 


MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


321 


vidual  liberty.  This  is,  therefore,  a  matter  on  which 
it  is  important  to  develop  a  strong  public  opinion.  A 
good  deal,  however,  can  be  done  by  law  in  removing 
disabilities  which  stand  in  the  way  of  the  recognition 

of  perfect  equality. ' 

{b)   The  IFbryfes^oA— Industrial  relations  are  strongly 

contrasted  with   those  of  the  family.     They  are  not 
based  on  mutual  affection  but  on   contract ;  and  they 
are  not  relations  of  equality  but  of  subordination.     No 
doubt,  in  the  family  also  there  is  the  subordination  of 
children  to  their  parents  ;  but  this  is  the  subordination 
of  the  undeveloped  to  the  developed,  of  the  helpless  to 
their  natural  protectors  ;  whereas  in  the  industrial  life 
the   subordination    which   exists   is   not   with  a  view 
to  the   protection    or  development   of  those  who   are 
subordinated,  but  simply  with  a  view  to  external  ends. 
In  these  circumstances  it  is  important  to  make  such  re- 
gulations as  will  secure  fairness  of  contract,  and  prevent 
subordination   from  becoming  slavery.     It  has  some- 
times been  made  a  matter  of  regret  that,  as  civilization 
advances,  the  relations  of  men  in  industrial  life  depart 
more  and  more  from  the  type  of  the  family.     Formerly 
the  relation  between  master  and  apprentice  was  almost 

iMr  Leslie  Stephen  has  objected  (San/c^  o/£;^/rtcs,  chap,  iii.,  §§ 
-,6^39)  to  the  common  practice  of  classing  the  family  along  with 
other  forms  of  social  organization,  on  the  ground  that  it  rests  on 
physiological  necessities,  and  that  it  is  rather  a  basis  than  a  result 
of  political  unity.  For  a  student  of  sociology  or  politics  this  con- 
tention would,  I  think,  have  some  force.  The  ethical  significance  of 
the  family,  however,  does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  affected  by  it. 
Besides,  the  existence  of  the  family,  in  any  developed  sense  of  the 
term,  seems  to  require  some  kind  of  legal  or  gz/asZ-legal  sanctions 
enforcing  acknowledged  rights  of  marriage,  whether  in  the  form  o 
polyandry,  polygamv.  or  monogamy.  It  thus  presupposes  social 
organization,  and  varies  with  the  growth  of  that  organization. 
Eth.  21 


322 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II 


§7.] 


MORAL   INSTITUTIONS. 


323 


of  a  paternal  character  ;  whereas  now,  as  Carlyle  used 
to  say, »  there  is  nothhig  but  the  ''  cash  ?iexus."  But 
it  is  doubtful  whether  this  ought  to  be  made  a  matter 
for  regret.  A  paternal  relationship  easily  passes  into 
tyranny  when  there  is  no  basis  of  natural  affection.  It 
is  probably  best  that  business  relationships  should  be 
made  a  matter  of  pure  contract.  This  may  to  some 
slight  extent  interfere  with  the  development  of  relations 
of  mutual  kindness  and  loyalty  ;  but  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  to  a  much  greater  extent  it  helps  to  prevent 
injustice.  The  feelings  of  kindness  are  more  likely  to 
arise  in  men  as  neighbours  and  fellow-citizens  than  as 
masters  and  servants  ;  *  and  the  practical  offices  of  help 
can  probably  be  better  undertaken  by  society  as  a 
whole  than  by  particular  employers. 

At  the  same  time  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  anything 
that  can  be  done  to  make  the  relation  of  subordination 
less  harsh  is  in  the  highest  degree  desirable.  For  this 
reason  all  forms  of  co-operation  that  are  practicable 
ought  to  be  earnestly  promoted.  The  question,  What 
kinds  of  industry  ought  to  be  encouraged  or  discour- 
aged ?  is  also  largely  an  ethical  question ;  though  the 
methods  by  which  industries  may  advantageously  be 
promoted  or  impeded,  must  be  left  to  be  discussed  by 
economists  and  political  philosophers.  Under  modern 
conditions  of  industrial  life,  industries  are  promoted  or 
retarded  chiefly^  by  changes  in  the  demand  for  the 
objects  produced  by  them  ;  and  these  again  are  brought 

1  See  his  Past  and  Present;  and  cf.  below,  pp.  34^.  4io. 

'-^At  least  in  the  former  relationship  they  are  more  likely  to 
become  widely  diffused  :  perhaps  when  they  do  arise  in  the  latter 
relationship,  they  are  apt  to  be  more  intense. 

8  Setting  aside  changes  in  natural  conditions,  and  changes  pro- 


about  mainly  by  changes  in  men's  tastes,  fashions, 
and  habits  of  life.  Now  in  so  far  as  the  objects  brought 
into  demand  by  such  changes  are  necessary  for  the 
preservation  or  maintenance  or  advancement  of  human 
life,  and  in  so  far  as  the  industries  by  which  they  are 
produced  are  not  injurious  to  human  life,  there  can  be 
no  question  about  their  moral  justification.  The  ethical 
question,  therefore,  arises  chiefly  with  regard  to  the 
use  of  what  are  called  luxuries,  and  to  the  use  of 
objects  which  can  be  produced  only  by  means  of 
dangerous  or  deleterious  processes.  And  the  question 
which  thus  arises  can  be  answered  only  by  balancmg 
the  advantages  which  such  objects  bring  towards  the 
advancement  of  the  supreme  end  of  life  against  the  loss 
occasioned  by  their  injurious  effects. » 

(c)  The  Civic  Communi/y.—U  mens  business  relations 
are  to  be  purely  a  matter  of  contract,  it  is  necessary 
that  the  community  as  a  whole  should  undertake  those 
more  paternal  functions  which  cannot  conveniently 
be  left  to  the  care  of  individuals.  This  is  partly  the 
business  of  the  central  government ;  but  to  a  great 
extent  it  can  be  more  conveniently  managed  by  each 
district  for  itself.  The  care  which  has  to  be  exercised 
over  the  citizens  consists  in  such  matters  as  the  pro- 
vision of  sanitary  arrangements  (including  baths,  and 

duced  by  new  discoveries  and  inventions,  with  which  Ethics  is 
only  very  indirectly  concerned  (since  the  question,  how  far  men 
should  be  allowed  to  make  and  utilize  new  discoveries  can  scarcely 
at  the  present  time  be  regarded  as  a  practical  one). 

1  There  have  been  several  interesting  discussions  of  Luxury  m  re- 
cent times.  See.  for  instance,  Bosanquet's  Civilization  ofOms^n- 
dom,  MacCunn's  Ethics  of  Citizenship,  L.  Stephens  Socm/  ^;^'^  ^  «"^ 
DutU  Smart's  Studies  in  Economics,  and  the  article  by  Professor 
Sidgwick  in  the  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  V.  no.  i. 


Ill 


324 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


the  like),  the  means  of  education  (inckiding  well- 
furnished  public  libraries),  the  enforcement  of  pre- 
cautions against  accidents,  the  prevention  of  adultera- 
tion of  foods  and  other  forms  of  deception,  and  the 
securing  of  the  means  of  livelihood  to  those  who  are 
incapacitated  for  labour.  The  discussion  of  the  details 
of  such  provisions,  and  of  the  question  whether  they 
can  be  best  managed  by  a  central  authority  or  by  local 
administrations,  must  be  left  to  writers  on  Politics. 

(d)   The  Church.— The  paternal  care  of  the  citizens, 
however,  cannot  be  fully  provided  by  any  form  of  civic 
machinery.     There  must  always  be  a  certain  hardness 
in  all  such  machinery,  which   must  be   managed  on 
a  basis   of  law  and   not   of  affection.      Hence   it  is 
necessary  that  it  should  be  supplemented  by  more  per- 
sonal relations  among  the  citizens.     A  centre  for  such 
personal    relationships    is    furnished   by    the    Church, 
whose  function  it  is  to  secure  the  carrying  out  of  the 
highest   moral    ideal   in    human    relationships.      It   is 
greatly  to   be   regretted    that   differences  of  religious 
opinion   prevent   the   Church  from    being  so  efficient  , 
in  this  way  as  it  might  otherwise  be.     There  can  be 
little  doubt  that  in  the  Middle  Ages,  under  the  sway  of 
Catholicism,  its   work  was  more  efficiently  done— if  it 
is  in  reality  possible  to  compare  the  action  of  institu- 
tions  under  very   different  conditions    of  social    life. 
Perhaps  it  may  be  found  necessary  to  supplement  the 
work  of  the  Churches  by  unsectarian  ethical  institutions. 
But  the  discussion  of  this  question  would  not  be  suitable 
for  an   elementary  text-book  ;  '    and   indeed  it   could 

1  It  is,  however,  discussed  at  considerable  length  by  Prof.  Gizycki 
in  his  Introduction  to  the  Study  oj  Ethics  {Dr.  Coifs  adaptation),  chap. 


§7.] 


MORAL   INSTITUTIONS. 


325 


scarcely  be  satisfactorily  answered  without  introducing 
considerations  that  are  not  of  a  purely  ethical  char- 
acter. The  same  remark  applies  to  the  discussion  of 
the  important  question  of  the  right  relation  of  the 
Churches  to  the  State. 

(e)  The  State.— The  State  is  the  supreme  controller 
of  all  social  relationships.     It  makes  laws  and  sees  that 
they  are  enforced.      It  also  carries  on  various  kinds  of 
work  that  cannot  conveniently  be  left   to  private  en- 
terprise.    It  undertakes,  for  instance,  the  provision  ot 
the   means   of  national   defence,    the   conveyance   of 
letters,  and  in  some  countries  the  conducting  of  rail- 
ways.'   The  extent  to  which  it  is  desirable  that  such 
work  should  be  undertaken  by  the  State,  cannot  be 
discussed  in  an  ethical  treatise.     But  it  is  important  to 
insist  that  any  one  who  seeks  to  answer  this  question, 
must  answer  it  by  a  consideration   of  the  degree  to 
which  such  action  tends  to  promote  the  highest  life  of 
the  citizens  of  the  State. 

(/)  Friendship.     These   are    some    of  the   leading 
forms  of  social   unity,  but  the  relationships  between 
human  beings,  through  which  the  moral  life  is  devel- 
oped, are  not  exhausted  by  these.     Such  a  relationship 
as  that  of  individual  friendship  has  also  to  be  noted. 
This  was  a  form  of  unity  to  which  the  ancient  Greek 
writers  on  Ethics  gave  special  attention,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, it  rose  into  the  highest  degree  of  prominence  in 
the  speculations  of  the  Epicureans,  with  whom  it  may 
almost  be  said  to  have  taken  the  place  of  the  State.     In 
modern  times  the  expansion  of  man's  social  universe 
through  books,  travel,  &c.,  may  have  somewhat  dimin- 
ished the  significance  of  these  closer  personal  ties  ;  but 
it  still  remains  true  that  in  a  friend  a  man  may  find  an 


326 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  II. 


alter  ego  through  whom  the  universe  of  his  personality  is 
enlarged  in  a  more  perfect  way  than  is  possible  by  any 
other  form  of  relationship,  especially  in  cases  of  ideal 
friendship  like  that  of  Tennyson  and  Hallam,  when  it 
can  be  said,  *'He  was  rich  where  I  was  poor."  This 
also,  however,  is  a  form  of  relationship  to  which  we 
can  do  nothing  more  than  allude. " 

§  8.  Social  Progress.— All  the  institutions  to  which 
reference  has  now  been  made,  are  continually  under- 
going changes,  which  are  rendered  necessary  by  the 
progressive  civilization  of  mankind.  In  carrying  out 
such  changes  it  is  important  to  see  that  they  are  not 
made  with  a  view  to  merely  temporary  advantages, 
and  that  the  advantages  which  they  secure  are  not 
bought  with  any  loss  of  human  efficiency.  The  ulti- 
mate standard  by  which  all  progress  must  be  tested  is 
the  realization  of  the  rational  self.  Material  and  social 
progress  is  valuable  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  means 
to  this.  The  nature  of  this  progress  will  be  somewhat 
more  fully  considered  in  a  succeeding  chapter. 

§  9.  Individualism  and  Socialism. — In  recent  times 
discussions  with  regard  to  social  progress  have  ap- 
peared chiefly  in  the  form  of  the  question,  whether  we 
ought  to  move  in  an  individualistic  or  in  a  socialistic 
direction.  Individualists  think  that  it  is  chiefly  impor- 
tant to  secure,  as  far  as  possible,  the  freedom  of  action 
of  the  individual  citizens.  Socialists,  on  the  other 
hand,  think  that  what  is  chiefly  desirable  is  to  regulate 
the  actions  of  individuals  so  as  to  secure  the  good  of 
all.     It  does  not  appear,   however,  that  there  is   any 

1  The  discussion  of  Friendship  in  Aristotle's  Nicomachean  Ethics 
is  perhaps  still  the  best  that  we  have.  See  also  MacCunn  s  Ethics 
oj  Citizenship,  II. 


9.] 


MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


327 


real  opposition  between  the  principles  of  Individuahsm 
and  of  Socialism. '     The  good  of  all  can  certainly  not 
be  secured  if  the  nature  of  each  is  cramped  and  under- 
fed •  nor  can  freedom  be  allowed  to  each  except  on  the 
assumption  that  that  freedom  will  on  the  whole  be  used 
for  the  good  of  all.     The  question  that  ought  to  be 
asked  is— In  what  directions  is  it  desirable  to  give  men 
more  freedom,  and  in  what  directions  is  it  desirable 
that  their  actions  should  be  more  controlled?     It  is  a 
question  of  detail,  and  it  must  be  answered  differently 
at  different  stages  of  human  development.     Perhaps  at 
the  present  time  it  is  chiefly  in  the  socialistic  direction 
that  advance  is  demanded.     But  the  reason  is  simply 
that  in  recent  generations  the  individualistic  side  has 
been  too  strongly  insisted  on.     This  again  is  mainly 
due  to  the  fact  that  in  recent  times  the  main  social 
advance  has  consisted  in  the  emancipation  of  highly- 
skilled  labour  from  cumbersome  restraints.     The  pro- 
blem of  the  next  age  is  rather  that  of  providing  a  truly 
human  life  for  those  who  are  less  skilled  and  capable, 
and  who  are  consequently  less  able  to  look  after  their 
own  interests.     The  former  advance  could  be  made  by 
individualistic  methods  :  the  latter  seems  to  demand  a 
certain   degree  of  Socialism.^     But  here  agam  we  can 
do  no  more  than  indicate,  quite  generally  and  roughly, 
the  nature  of  the  problem  involved. 

1  From  the  point  of  view  of  Ethics,  we  may  say  that  both  Indi- 
vidu'^n  a'^d's^ciahsm  supply  us  with  econormc  -m^^^^^^^^^ 
The  commandment  of  Individualism  is-Thou  shalt  not  PauP^"^^  ' 
Ir  Eve  y  one  must  be  allowed  to  work  out  his  own  salvation.  The 
commandment  of  Socialism  is-Thou  shalt  not  jplo^t^or  No  one 
must  be  used  as  a  mere  means  to  any  one  else  s  salvation 

.This  subject  is  treated  with  considerable  ^^^"^^^ ^>^P;^^^^^^^ 
in  his  System  der  Ethik.  vol.  ii.  Book  IV.  m.,  3.    On  the  general  sub 


328 


ETHICS. 


[bK.  III.,  CH.  11. 


ject  of  Socialism  as  a  question  of  practical  politics,  the  student  may 
consult  Sidgvvick's  Principles  of  Political  Economy,  Book  III.,  chaps, 
ii — vii.,  and  Elements  of  Politics,  chap.  x.  See  also  his  Methods  of 
Ethics,  Book  III.,  chap.  v.  Reference  may  also  be  made  to  Mon- 
tague's Lxwn7so/"/ni/iV/V/«a/  Liberty,  Riich'iQ's  Principles  of  State  Inter- 
ference, Schaffle's  Quintessence  of  Socialism,  Gonner's  Socialist  State, 
Kirkup's  Inquiry  into  Socialism,  Rae's  Contemporary  Socialism, 
Graham's  Socialism  New  and  Old,  Rickaby's  Moral  Philosophy,  Gil- 
man's  Socialism  and  the  American  Spirit,  McKechnie's  The  State  and 
the  Individual,  Donisthorpe's  Individualism,  &c.  A  singularly 
searching  examination  of  the  ideas  underlying  Individualism  and 
Socialism  has  lately  appeared  in  Mr,  Bosanquet's  Civilization  of 
Christendom.  The  recent  discussions  in  the  International  Journal 
of  Ethics,  Vols.  VI.  and  VII.  arc  also  valuable. 


MORAL   INSTITUTIONS.  329 


Note  on  Justice. 

Anything  like  a  complete  discussion  of  the  difficult  conception  of 
Juftke  would  evidently  be  quite  beyond  the  scope  of  such  a  text- 
hook  as  this     But  a  few  remarks  seem  to  be  called  for. 

Much  confusion  has  arisen  in  the  treatment  of  this  subject  from  a 
failure  to  observe  an  ambiguity  in  the  term  which  was  well  known 
even  to  Plato  and  Aristotle,  but  which  some  modern  WTiters  seem  to 
have  forgotten.    The  term  "Justice"  is  used  in  two  distinct  senses 
wrsoeak  of  a  "  just  man,"  and  we  speak  of  a  "  just  law    or  a  "  just 
\^.r.f  "    Tiist  in  the  former  sense,  means  almost  the  same  as 
C"  d :  Knf^orany  good  in  respect  to  thefulfitaent  of 
Tc  a  oWigations.    Justice,  then,  in  this  sense  is  equivalent  to  all 
ITZe  in  its  social  aspect.i    On  the  other  hand,  when  we  speak  of  a 
TsUaw  or  a  just  government,  we  mean  one  that  ,s  fa.r  or  .mparUa 
"dealing  with  those  to  whom  it  applies  or  over  whom  .t  ™les.8    Th^ 
Lmbiguity  in  the  use  of  the  term  is  partly  concealed  by  the  fact  ha 
wTsometimes  speak  of  a  man  as  being  just  in  the  same  sense  a  that 
n  Xch  the  term  is  applied  to  a  law  or  government-^,.,  m  those 
cases  in  which  a  man  occupies  a  position  of  authority  (as  a  judge,  a 
Mns  or  even  a  parent),  so  as  to  be  a  representative  of  law  or  govern- 
men!     H^nce  many  writers  have  failed  to  perceive  that  there  are 
Uvo  senses  in  which  the  term  is  used.    The  confusion  bet  ween  these 
two  senses  vitiates,  for  example,  nearly  all  that  is  said  about  Justice 
ntheTfh  chapter  o{  Mill's  UWitari;nis„,.    The  inHuence  of  the  same 
amSty  seems,  moreover,  to  be  not  without  effect  even  on  some 


1  See  Aristotle's  Ethics,  Book  V.,  chap.  ..    Sometimes,  however 
w^en  we  speak  of  a  "just  man  "we  mean  merely  one  who  fulfils 
those  obligations  that  are  enforced   by  positive  law.    C/-  "elow. 
chap  t.^  .2.    But  I  do  not  think  that  this  use  of  the  term  .s 
common,  or  to  be  commended. 

8  TusUce'is  derived  from  the  Latin  jus.  law.    This  again  is  cognate 

withy«5s»»,.  meaning  what  is  ordered.  A  i-'' ^^^'^'^'''J^'Zr^ 
obeys  orders,  t.  e.  the  moral  orders  or  laws.  A  just  law  or  govern- 
ment  on  the  other  hand,  means  one  that  possesses  he  q"»l>'^«/  'hat 
be'ong  to,  or  ought  to  belong  to.  a  law  0«5)-m.  m  particular,  the 
quality  of  fairness  or  impartiality 


t  I 


330 


ETHICS. 


[bk.  hi.,  ch.  it. 


more  recent  writers.  Dr.  Sidgwick  carefully  distinguishes  i  between 
the  two  senses  of  Justice  now  referred  to,  and  states  that  he  intends 
to  confine  himself  to  the  second.  Nevertheless,  one  of  his  illustra- 
tions appears  to  refer  to  Justice  rather  in  the  first  sense.  He  remarks  2 
that  we  cannot  say,  "  in  treating  of  the  private  conduct  of  individuals, 
that  a// arbitrary  inequality  is  recognized  as  unjust :  it  would  not  be 
commonly  thought  unjust  in  a  rich  bachelor  with  no  near  relatives 
to  leave  the  bulk  of  his  property  in  providing  pensions  exclusively 
for  indigent  red-haired  men,  however  unreasonable  and  capricious 
the  choice  might  appear."  When  it  is  said  that  this  is  not  unjust, 
does  not  this  mean  simply  that  it  is  not  contrary  to  any  recognized 
moral  obligation  ?  And  is  not  the  term,  therefore,  used  in  its  first 
sense  ?  If  a  law,  or  a  government,  or  even  a  parent  in  dealing 
with  his  children,  were  to  exhibit  any  similar  caprice  to  that  here 
supposed  by  Dr.  Sidgwick,  would  not  this  be  at  once  regarded  as 
unjust  ?  In  such  a  case,  we  should  be  using  the  term  in  its  second 
sense.  The  person  supposed  by  Dr.  Sidgwick  is  not  said  to  be  un- 
just, apparently  simply  for  the  reason  that  he  is  not  in  a  position  in 
which  Justice,  in  this  sense,  can  be  predicated  of  him  at  all.  A  man 
cannot,  in  this  sense,  be  either  just  or  unjust,  unless  he  represents 
some  form  of  law  or  government. 

But  there  is  a  still  further  ambiguity  in  the  use  of  the  term.  And 
this  also  was  pointed  out  by  Aristotle.^  In  speaking  of  Justice  in  the 
sense  of  fairness,  we  may  be  referring  either  to  the  apportionment 
of  goods  or  to  the  apportionment  of  evils.  Now  evil  can  be  fairly 
apportioned  only  to  those  who  have  done  evil—/,  e.  as  punishment. 
Justice,  then,  may  be  either  distributive  or  corrective.  But  some- 
times the  term  is  used  emphatically  in  the  latter  sense  as  if  this  were 
its  exclusive  use.  To  "  do  justice  "  is  frequently  understood  as  mean- 
ing simply  to  award  punishment.  Thus,  there  is  an  ambiguity  be- 
tween the  broader  sense  of  the  term,  including  distributive  and  cor- 
rective Justice,  and  the  narrower  sense  in  which  it  is  confined  to  the 
latter.  Mill  seems  to  have  been  misled  by  this  ambiguity  also. 
Thus,  when  he  says  that  "the  two  essential  ingredients  in  the  senti- 
ment of  Justice  are,  the  desire  to  punish  a  person  who  has  done 
harm,  and  the  knowledge  or  belief  that  there  is  some  definite  in- 
dividual or  individuals  to  whom  harm  has  been  done,"  he  seems  to 


1  Methods  of  Ethics,  p.  264-5,  note  2. 

2  Ihiii.,  p.  268-Q,  note. 

«  Op.  cit.  Book  v.,  chap,  il 


MORAL  INSTITUTIONS. 


331 


be  referring  exclusively  to  corrective  Justice,  without  being  aware 

As  far  as  1  can  juage,  /vn^t  cj^ftwick's  treatment, 

,„,Uce  is  stm  the  ^^t  f  ^^'^^     -^..e'';-^^^^^^^^^  course  the 

rargi^btr-rrrX  Adapted  to  modern  conditions  of 
knowledge  and  practice. 


332 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CII.  HI. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE    DUTIES. 


§  1.  Nature  of  Moral  Laws. — The  Jews,  by  whom 
the  moral  consciousness  of  the  modern  world  has  been 
perhaps  mainly  determined/  summed  up  their  view  ol 
duty  in  the  form  of  ten  commandments.  And  we  find 
in  other  nations  also  a  certain  more  or  less  explicit 
recognition  of  definite  rules  to  which  a  good  man  must 
adhere — rules  which  say  expressly,  Do  this,  Abstain 
from  that.^  Now,  in  the  moral  "ought,"  as  we  have 
so  far  considered  it,  there  are  no  such   explicit  com- 


1  It  is  hard  to  say  whether  the  Jews  or  the  Greeks  have  had  most 
influence  on  us  in  this  respect.  See  Hatch's  Hibbert  Lectures;  and 
cf.,  for  a  vigorous  but  very  paradoxical  view  of  the  same  subject, 
Duhring's  Ersatz  der  Religion. 

2  The  Greeks  had  no  definite  code  of  moral  rules.  Their  earliest 
moral  wisdom  was  expressedrather  in  brief  proverbial  sayings,  such 
as  M'jS**'  aYa**  ("  nothing  to  excess  ").  Among  the  Greeks,  however,  as 
among  all  early  peoples,  the  laws  of  the  State  furnished  a  basis  for 
moral  obligation,  just  as  a  child's  first  ideas  of  duty  are  derived  from 
the  commands  of  its  parents.  The  dawning  of  the  consciousness  that 
there  is  a  deeper  basis  of  moral  obligation  than  State  law^s  is  illus- 
trated in  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles.  It  was  largely  because  the  early 
Greeks  had  no  clear  distinction  between  the  moral  law  and  the  law^s 
of  the  State  that  the  criticisms  of  the  Sophists  (and  to  some  extent  of 
Socrates)  were  felt  to  be  subversive  of  morality.  See  Zeller's  Pre- 
Socratic  Philosophy,  vol.  ii.,  p.  404,  and  Socrates  and  the  Socratic  Schools, 
pp.  219—221.  It  is  noteworthy  also  that  the  absoluteness  of  the  Jew- 
ish Law  showed  signs  of  breaking  down,  as  soon  as  the  Jews  had 
lost  their  national  independence.    Cf.  above.  Book  I.,  chap.  V. 


§>•] 


THE   DUTIES. 


333 


mands  contained.  There  is  only  the  general  command 
to  realize  the  rational  self.  We  must  now  consider 
what  is  the  place  of  particular  rules  within  this  general 

commandment. 

What  has  been  said  in  the  last  chapter  may  help 
us  to  do  this.  For  we  have  seen  there  that  there  are 
certain  definite,  though  at  the  same  time  somewhat 
elastic  and  modifiable,  rights  that  come  to  be  gradually 
recognized  in  human  societies  ;  and  these  definite 
lights  bring  definite  obligations  along  with  them.  Such 
obligations  may  be  expressed  in  the  form  of  command- 
ments. ,  .^,    ^, 

It  is  not  merely,  however,  in  connection  with  these 
reco-nized  rights  that  such  obligations  arise.  Obliga- 
tions'" arise  in  connection  with  all  the  institutions  of 
social  life,  and  in  connection  with  all  the  relationships 
into  which  men  are  brought  to  one  another.  No  doubt 
there  is  a  certain  right  corresponding  to  all  such  obli- 
gations, just  as  there  is  an  obligation  corresponding 
to  every  right.-  But  sometimes  it  is  the  right  that  is 
obvious,  and  the  obligation  seems  to  follow  it,  whereas 
in  other  cases  it  is  the  obligation  that  is  more  easily 
recognized.  In  the  preceding  chapter  we  have  con- 
sidered some  of  the  more  prominent  rights  and  institu- 

1  Rights  are  also  for  the  most  part  connected  with  definite  institu- 
tions or  orms  of  social  organization.  Hence  dut.es  also  tend  to 
cSr  round  them.  Thus.  Mr.  Alexander  says  (Moral  Order  and 
™Vp.  253)  that  ••  Duties  are  the  conduct  ...  by  which  mstitu- 
uTareLiSLned' :  nhedutyofrecordingavote  g^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

to  the  institution  of  parliamentary  franchise      It  ^.«^^f  f."  ^^^^^ger 
ation  however,  to  say  that  all  duties  are  related  to  institutions  in  this 
wav     TlTe  duty  of  regard  for  life,  for  instance,  seems  to  be  inde- 
pendent  of  any  special  institutions-unless  we  are  to  describe  life 
uteli  as  an  "institution.-  which  would  be  somewhat  paradoxical. 


334  ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 

tions  that  have  grown  up  in  social  life.  In  this  chapter 
we  are  to  consider  the  more  prominent  obligations  that 
have  come  to  be  recognized  among  men,  as  presenting 
themselves  in  the  form  of  commandments,  and  to  try 
to  bring  out  the  precise  ethical  significance  of  these 
elements  in  the  moral  consciousness.  In  the  one  case, 
as  in  the  other,  it  would  probably  be  useless  to  attempt 
to  give  an  exhaustive  classification. 

§  2    Respect  for  LiFE.^The  first  commandment  is 
the  commandment  to  respect  life,  corresponding  directly 
to  the  right  of  life.     This  commandment  is   expressed 
in  the  form,  Thou  shalt  not   kill ;  and  its  meaning  is 
so  obvious  that  it  requires  little  comment.     We  must 
merely  observe  that  the  commandment  which  bids  us 
have  respect  for  life  enjoins  much  more  than  the  mere 
passive  abstinence  from  the  destruction    of  another  s 
physical  existence.     It  involves  also  the  care  of  our 
own    and  the  avoidance  of  anything  likely  to  injure 
either  our  own  or  another's  physical  well-being.     How 
much   this   implies,   we  are  only  gradually  learning. 
Mr.    Herbert  Spencer  has   done  admirable  service  in 
emphasizing  this  side  of  moral  law.  • 

S  3  Respect  for  Freedom.— The  second  command- 
ment' corresponds  to  the  right  of  Freedom.  It  forbids 
any  interference  with  the  development  of  another  man  s 
life  except  in  so  far  as  such  interference  may  be  re- 
quired to  help  on  that  development  itself.  It  may  be 
expressed  in  the  form,  Treat  every  human  being  as  a 
person,  never  as  a  mere  thing.     In  this  form,  it  may 

1  See  especially  his  Data  of  Ethics,  chap.  xi..  and  The  Principles 
of  Ethics  Part  III.  C/.  also  Clark  Murray's  Introduction  to  EJncs, 
lok  II  ,'Part  II..  chap.  ii..  and  Adler's  Moral  Instruction  lo  Children 
Lecture  XII. 


§4-] 


THE   DUTIES. 


335 


be  regarded  as  forbidding  slavery,  despotism,  exploita- 
tion, prostitution,  and  every  other  form  of  the  use  of 
another  as  a  mere  means  to  one's  own  ends  Th.s 
commandment  and  the  preceding  one  are  closely  con- 
nected together.  They  might,  in  fact,  be  regarded  as 
one  •  for  the  destruction  of  the  life  of  another  is  simply 
an  extreme  form  of  interference  with  his  free  develop- 
ment There  is  also  a  third  commandment  which  is 
closely  connected  with  these  two,  and  which  we  may 

notice  next.  .  .   *   j  „„ 

8  4    Respect  for  Character. -This  may  be  stated  as 

the  commandment  to  respect  character.     It  is  the  posi- 
tive of  which  the  two  preceding  are    the  negative.     It 
not  merely  forbids  us  to  injure  our  neighbour  or  to  do 
anything  that  will  interfere  with  his  free  development, 
but  also  positively  bids  us  observe,  as  far  as  we  can 
what  will  further  him.     It  was  of  this  comrnandment 
that  St.  Paul  was  thinking  when  he  said,    "All  things 
are  lawful  for  me,  but  all  things  are  not  expedient 
By  the  ordinary  negative  law  he  was   permitted  to  do 
anything  that  did  not  positively  injure  another  ;  but  he 
was  conscious  that,  in  addition  to  this,  he  ought  to 
abstain  from  anything  that  would  tend  to  prevent  the 
furtherance  of  another  in  his  development.     To  partake 
of  certain  meats  would  not  interfere  either  with  the 
life  or  with  the  freedom  of  any  one  ;  but,  havmg  re- 
gard to  the  stage  of  development  at  which  they  stand, 
we  may  be  aware  that  it  would  be  injurious  to  them. 
Of  course,  we  might  regard  this  principle  as  simply  an 
extension  of  the  negative  principle  of  respect  for  free- 
dom     But  perhaps  it  is  better  to  regard  it  as  positive  ; 
for  when  we  thus  have  regard  for  the  stage  of  develop- 
ment  at  which  any  one  stands,  we  shall  be  led  not 


336 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


merely  to  abstain  from  that  which  will  injure  him,  but 
also  to  do  that  which  will  help  him.  The  simplest  way 
of  summing  up  this  commandment  is  perhaps  to  say, 
in  Hegel's  '  language,  * '  Be  a  person,  and  respect  others 
as  persons." 

§  5.  Respect  for  Property. — The  next  commandment 
is,  Thou  Shalt  not  steal.  This  is  simply  a  carrying  out 
of  the  preceding.  It  forbids  any  appropriation  of  the 
instruments  of  another's  well-being,  whether  they  be 
material  things  that  belong  to  him,  or  such  goods  as 
time,  reputation,  and  the  like.  This  commandment  is, 
as  I  say,  involved  in  the  preceding.  For  the  develop- 
ment of  a  man's  personality  involves  the  use  of  instru- 
ments ;  and  the  right  of  an  individual  to  appropriate 
these  involves  the  obligation  on  the  part  of  all  others 
of  leaving  his  possession  of  them  inviolate.  The  com- 
mandment to  respect  property  ought,  however,  to  be 
regarded  as  involving  something  more  than  the  mere 
condemnation  of  theft.  It  involves  regard  for  our  own 
property  as  well  as  that  of  others.  It  condemns,  there- 
fore, any  neglect  or  abuse  of  the  instruments  which  an 
individual  has  appropriated.  It  may  also  be  regarded 
as  condemning  all  forms  of  idleness  that  imply  living 
on  the  work  of  others,  and  so  appropriating  what  be- 
longs to  them. 

§  6.  Respect  for  Social  Order. — To  avoid  unneces- 
sary details,  we  may  next  consider  what  is  rather  a 
group  of  commandments  than  a  single  rule — viz.  those 
commandments  that  are  connected  with  respect  for 
social  institutions  and  the  various  forms  of  social  order. 
Such   respect  is  pretty  nearly  equivalent  to  what  the 


Philosophic  des  Reclits.  §36 


7.] 


THE   DUTIES. 


337 


Greeks  used  to  call  ai5w<^,  shame  or  reverence. '     This 
feeling  forbids  us  to  interfere  unnecessarily  with  any 
established  institution.      It  forbids,   for  instance,    any 
violation  of  the  sanctities  of  the  family  ;  it  enjoins  that 
we  should  "honour  the  king"  and  all  constituted  au- 
thorities ;  *  and  the  like.     The  authority  of  this  group  of 
commandments  rests  on  the  importance  of  maintaining 
the  social  system  to  which  we   belong.     The  soldier 
feels  himself  in  general  bound  to  carry  out  the  com- 
mands of  his  superior,  even  if  he  knows  very  well  that 
''some  one  has  blundered "  ;  and  in  the  same  way  the 
citizen  feels  bound  in    general  to  give  his  support  to 
the  constituted  authorities  of  his  state,  even  if  he  sees 
clearly  that  their  laws  are  not  altogether  wise.     Occa- 
sionally also  a  politician  may  feel  himself  bound  to  act 
with  his  party,    even   if  he  does  not  approve  of  some 
detail  in  its  policy.     Evidently  this  group  of  command- 
ments   might  be  split    up  into  a  number  of  separate 
rules.     But  it   is  so  easy  to  do  this,  that  it  is  scarcely 
worth  while  to  attempt  it  here. 

§  7.  Respect  for  Truth. — The  next  commandment 
is,  Thou  Shalt  not  lie.  This  rule  has  a  double  appli- 
cation. On  the  one  hand,  it  may  be  taken  to  mean 
that  we  should  conform  our  actions  to  our  words — 

1  It  has  already  been  remarked  (p.  287,  note  2)  that  aifiw?  is  almost 
equivalent  to  conscience.  Since,  however,  the  moral  obligations  of 
the  early  Greeks  were  connected  entirely  with  social  laws  and  in- 
stitutions, it  was  almost  entirely  with  these  that  the  feeling  of  aiSti? 
was  associated. 

2  I  need  hardly  say  that  this  rule  is  not  to  be  understood  as  exclud- 
ing the  right  of  revolution.  As  we  shall  shortly  see,  none  of  these 
rules  is  to  be  regarded  as  absolutely  binding.  Just  as  a  Nelson  may 
look  at  the  signals  of  his  superior  officer  with  his  blind  eye,  so  a  far- 
seeing  social  reformer  may  defy  the  laws  of  his  state.  But  it  is  only 
in  exceptional  circumstances  that  such  conduct  is  justifiable. 

Eth.  22 


33^ 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


that,  for  instance,  we  should  fulfil  our  promises,  and 
observe  the  contracts  into   which  we  have   entered. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  taken  to  mean  that  we 
should  conform  our  words  to  our  thoughts—/,  e.  that 
we  should  say  what  we  mean.     Evidently,  these  two 
interpretations  are  quite  different.     A  man  may  make 
a  promise  which  he  does  not  mean  to  keep.     In  that 
case,  he  lies  in  the  second  sense.     But  it  does  not  fol- 
low that  he  will  necessarily  lie  in  the  first  sense.     For, 
having  made  the  promise,  he  may  keep  it.     Still,  both 
senses  are  concerned  with  respect  for  the  utterance  of 
our  thoughts— though  the  latter  is  concerned  with  care 
in  the  utterance  of  them,  the  former  with  care  in  con- 
forming  our  actions  to   that  which  has  been   uttered. 
Lying,   however,   ought  not  to  be  understood  as  re- 
ferring merely  to  language.     We  lie  by  our  actions, 
if  we  do  things  in   such  a  way  as  to   imply  that  we 
intend  to  do  something  else,  or  that  we   have  done 
something  else,  which  in  fact  we  neither  have   done 
nor  intend  to  do.     The  commandment,    then,    Thou 
Shalt  not  lie,   may  be  taken  to  mean  that  we  must 
always  so  speak  and  act  as  to   express  as  clearly  as 
possible  what  we  believe  to  be  true,  or  what  we  intend 
to  perform  ;  and   that,  having   expressed   our    mean- 
ing, we  must  as  far  as  possible  conform  our  actions 

to  it. 

§  8.  Respect  for  Progress.  —The  last  commandment 
of  which  it  seems  necessary  to  take  notice,  is  the  com- 
mandment—loo often  overlooked  in  moral  codes— 
which  bids  us  help  on,  as  far  as  we  can,  the  advance- 
ment of  the  world.  It  may  be  expressed  in  this  form, 
Thou  Shalt  labour,  within  thy  particular  province, 
with  all  thy  heart   and  with   all  thy  soul  and  with  all 


§9.] 


THE   DUTIES. 


339 


thy  strength  and  with  all  thy  mind.'  It  is  not  without 
reason  that  I  express  this  commandment  in  the  same 
form  as  that  in  which  the  love  of  God  has  been  en- 
joined. It  was  wisely  said,  Lahorare  est  orare,  Work 
is  Worship.  The  love  of  God  is  perhaps  most  clearly 
shown  by  faith  in  human  progress ;  and  faith  in  it 
is  shown  most  clearly  by  devotion  to  it.^  With 
this  great  positive  commandment,  we  may  conclude 
our  list. 

§  9.  Casuistry.  —I  have  made  no  great  effort  to  re- 
duce these  commandments  to  system.  It  might  be  a 
good  exercise  for  the  student  to  work  them  out  more 
in  detail,  and  show  their  relations  to  one  another. 
But  it  seems  clear  that  no  system  of  commandments 
can  ever  be  made  quite  satisfactory.  There  can  be 
but  one  supreme  law — the  law  which  bids  us  realize 
the  rational  self  or  universe  ;  and  if  we  make  any  sub- 
ordinate rules  absolute,  they  are  sure  to  come  into 
conflict.  Such  a  conflict  of  rules  gives  rise  to  casu- 
istry. Casuistry  consists  in  the  effort  to  interpret  the 
precise  meaning  of  the  commandments,  and  to  explain 
which  is  to  give  way  when  a  conflict  arises.  ^  It  is 
evident  enough  that  conflicts  must  arise.  If  we 
are  always  to  respect  life,  we  must  sometimes  appro- 
priate property — e.  g.  the  knife  of  a  man  about  to 
commit  murder.     If  we  are  always  to  do  our  utmost 


1  This  is  Carlyle's  commandment—"  Know  what  thou  canst  work 
at;  and  work  at  it,  like  a  Hercules "  (P^s/  and  Present,  Book  III., 
chap.  xi.). 

a  "All  true  work  is  religion"  (Carlyle,  ibid.,  chap.  xii.). 

«  See  Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  88,  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics 
p.  69-70.  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  186—190,  and 
p.  215,  and  Bradley  s  Ethical  Stndies,  p.  142. 


340 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


for  freedom,    we  shall  sometimes  come  into  conflict 
with   order.'    So   in    other    cases.     We   have   already 
quoted  the  emphatic  utterance  of  Jacobi  on  this  point ;  ^ 
and  though  it  may  be  somewhat  exaggerated,  yet  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  there  are  occasions  in  which 
we  feel  bound  to  break  one  or  more  of  the  command- 
ments in  obedience  to  a  higher  law.     Now  casuistry 
seeks   to    draw    out    rules  for  breaking   the   rules— to 
show  the  exact  circumstances  in  which  we  are  en- 
titled  to  violate  particular  commandments.     This  effort 
is  chiefly  associated  historically  with  the  teaching  of 
the   Jesuits.^      It  was   called   ''casuistry"  because  it 
dealt  with   ''cases  of  conscience."      It  fell  into  dis- 
repute, and  was  severely  attacked  by  Pascal.     And  on 
the  whole  rightly.     It  is  bad  enough  that  we  should 
require    particular   rules  of  conduct   at   all,  3  but  rules 
for  the  breaking  of  rules  would  be  quite  intolerable. 
They  would  become  so  complicated  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  follow  them  out  ;  and  any  such  attempt 
would  almost  inevitably  lead  in  practice  to  a  system  by 
which  men  might  justify,  to  their  own  satisfaction,  any 
action  whatever.  4     The  way  to  escape  from  the  limita- 
tions of  the  commandments,    is   not    to    make   other 
commandments  more  minute  and  subtle,  but  rather  to 
fall  back   upon  the  great  fundamental  law,  of  which 

1  See  above,  pp.  198-9. 

2  See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics,  pp.  151— 154- 

«  The  expression  of  the  moral  law  in  the  form  of  particular  rules 
belongs  to  an  early  stage  in  moral  development.  It  naturally  comes 
immediately  after  that  stage  in  which  morality  is  identified  with  the 
laws  of  the  State.    C/.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  68-73- 

4  Hence  Adam  Smith  says  {Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  P^ri  VI., 
sect.  IV.)  that  "books  of  casuistry  are  generally  as  useless  as  they  are 
commonly  tiresome." 


10.] 


THE   DUTIES. 


341 


the    particular    commandments    are    but    fragmentary 

aspects. 

§  10.  The  Supreme  Law.— What  is  that  fundamental 
law.?     It  is,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the   command- 
ment   that    bids    us    realize    the    rational  self.      This 
commandment    is    so  broad,   and  is   apt  to  seem  so 
vague,  that  it  is  certainly  well  that   it  should  be  sup- 
plemented, for  practical  purposes,  by  more  particular 
rules  of  conduct.       But  when   these   rules  come  into 
conflict,  and  when  we  feel  ourselves  in  a  difficulty  with 
regard  to  the  course  that  we  ought  to   pursue—when, 
in  short,  a  "case  of  conscience  "  arises— we  must  fall 
back  upon  the  supreme   commandment,  and  ask  our- 
selves :  Is  the  course  that  we  think  of  pursuing  the 
one  that  is  most   conducive   to  the  realization  of  the 
rule  of  reason  in  the  world  .?     No  doubt  this  is  a  ques- 
tion which  it  will  often  be  difficult  to  answer.^     But, 
1  Sometimes  it  may  be  easier  to  answer  in  the  form  of  feeling.    The 
commandments  in  which  the  Jewish  Law  was  summed  "P-"  Thou 
Shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  &c.,  and  thy  neighbour 
as  thvself  "-express  the  right  attitude  of  feeling,  that  of  love  for  the 
supreme  reason  and  for  all  rational  beings.    In  the  form  of  feehng, 
however,  there  is  the  disadvantage  that  the  definite  duties  to  be  per- 
formed are  not  suggested,  whereas  the  command  to  pursue  the  ad- 
vancement  of  the  rational  life  suggests  at  once  the  means  that  must 
be  adopted  for  this  end.    At  the  same  time,  it  is  important  to  insist 
that  the  right  attitude  of  mind  necessarily  brings  with  it  the  right 
form  of  feeling.    To  this  point  we  have  already  referred  (Book  I 
chap,  iii .  §  5,  and  Book  II ,  chap,  iii.,  §  13)-    We  have  seen  that  Kant 
refused  to  regard  love  as  a  duty,  interpreting  the  Christian  injunction 
as  meaning  merely  that  we  should  treat  others  as  //we  loved  them 
But,  as  Adam  Smith  remarked  {Theory  of  Moral  Senttments.    Part 
III    sect.  III.,  chap  iv  );  this  could  scarcely  be  described  as  loving 
our'neighbour  as  ourselves  ;  since  "  we  love  ourselves  surely  for  our 
own  sakes,  and  not  merely  because  we  are  commanded  to  do  so. 
On  the  same  point,  Janet  has  well  quoted  {Theory  of  Morals,  p.  354) 
the  emphatic  utterance  of  St.  Paul,  "  Though  I  bestow  all  my  goods 


342 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


in  general,  a  man  who  keeps  his  conscience  un- 
clouded, and  sets  this  question  fairly  before  himself, 
will  be  able  to  keep  himself  practically  clear  from 
errors,  without  resorting  to  casuistical  distinctions.  ' 

§11.  Conventional   Rules.— Besides    the  command- 
ments, or  strict   moral   laws,  we   find   in   every  com- 
munity a  number  of  subordinate  rules  of  conduct,  in- 
ferior in  authority,  but  often  superior  in  the  obedience 
which  they  elicit.     Such  are,  for  instance,  the  rules  of 
courtesy,   those   rules  that   belong   to   the    -  Code  of 
Honour,"  the  etiquette  of  particular  trades  and  particu- 
lar classes  of  society. »     There  is  often  a  certain  absurd- 
ity in  these  rules  ;  and  some  of  them  are   frequently 
laughed   at  under  the  name  of  "Mrs.  Grundy."     Cer- 
tainly a  superstitious  devotion    to   them,  a   devotion 
which  interferes  with  the  fulfilment  of  more  important 
duties  or  with  the   development   of  independence   of 
character,  is  not  to  be  commended.     Yet  sometimes 
such  rules  are  not  without  reason.     Schiller  tells  us,  in 
a  wise  passage  of  his  Wallenstem,^  that  we  ought  not 
to  despise  the  narrow  conventional  laws  ;  for  they  were 
often  invented  as  a  safeguard  against  various  forms  of 
wrong  and  injustice.     Pectus  sihi  permissum  is  not  less 
to  be  distrusted  than  intellectus  sihi  per  missus  ;  and  it  is 
often  well  that   the   impulses   of  a  man's   own    heart 
should  be  checked  by  certain  generally  understood  con- 
to  feed  the  poor,  and  though  I  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  and  have 
not  charity,  it  profitcth  me  nothing." 

1  See,  on  this  point,  Green's  Prolegomena   to  Ethics,  Book  IV. 

chap.  ii.  .  „ 

2  Sometimes  referred  to  as  "  mmor  morals. 

8  Die  Piccolomini,  Act  I.,  scene  iv.— 

"  Lass  uns  die  alien  engen  Ordnungen 
Gering  nicht  achten ! " 


§12-] 


THE   DUTIES. 


343 


ventions.«     The  law  of  respect  for  social  order,  at  any 
rate   will  generally  lead  a  man  to  follow  the  established 
custom,  when  no  more  important  principle  is  thereby 
violated.     Still,  this  is  not  a  matter  of  supreme  impor- 
tance     A  scrupulous   adhesion  to  petty  rules  is  no 
doubt  as  foohsh  as   a  total  neglect  of  them.     Eccen- 
tricity has  its  place  in  the  moral  life  ;  and  there  are 
certainly  many  customs  which  are  -  more  honoured  m 
the  breach  than    the   observance."     Perhaps   the  ten- 
dency at  the  present  time— a  result  of  our  individual- 
istic modes  of  thought-is  to  attach  too  little  impor- 
tance to  general  rules  of  life.     The  Chinese,  however, 
under  the  influence  of  Confucius,  seem  to  have  gone 

to  the  other  extreme. 

§  12.  Duties  of  Perfect  and  Imperfect  Obligation.— 
The  impossibility  of  drawing  out  any  absolute  code  of 
duties  has  led  some  writers  to  draw  a  distinction  be- 
tween that  part  of  our  obligations  which  can  be  defi- 
nitely codified  and  that  part  which  must  be  left  com- 
paratively vague.  This  distinction  has  taken  various 
forms  Sometimes  those  obligations  which  are  capable 
of  precise  definition  are  called  duties  ;  while  that  part 
of  good  conduct  which  cannot  be  so  definitely  formu- 
lated is  classed  under  the  head  of  virtue-as  if  the  vir- 
tuous man  were  one  who  did  more  than  his  duty,  more 
than  could  reasonably  be  demanded  of  him.^     Again, 

1  Indeed,  such  rules  are  often  more  useful  in  small  matters  than 
in  great ;  just  because  the  small  matters  interest  us  less.    C/.  below, 

^  2\here  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  is  a  common  use  of  the  term 
"  Virtue  "  in  ordinary  language.  Perhaps  it  is  even  the  original  sense 
of  the  word.  It  certainly  seems  to  have  been  at  first  applied  to  those 
qualities  that  appeared  most  eminent  and  praiseworthy  See  Alex- 
ander's  Moral  Order  and  Progress,  p.  243  :  "The  distincbve  mark  of 


344 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


Mill  '  classifies  strict  duties  under  the  head  of  Justice  ; 
and  adds  that  ''there  are  other  things,  on  the  contrary, 
which  we  wish  that  people  should  do,  which  we  like 
or  admire  them  for  doing,  but  yet  admit  that  they  are 
not  bound  to  do  ;  it  is  not  a  case  of  moral  obligation." 
But  surely  we  have  a  moral  obligation  to  act  in  the  best 
way  possible.  Another  distinction  is  that  given  by 
Kant^  between  Duties  of  Perfect  and  Imperfect  Obliga- 
tion. According  to  this  classification,  Duties  of  Perfect 
Obligation  are  those  in  which  a  definite  demand  is 
made  upon  us,  without  any  qualification — as,  Thou 
Shalt  not  kill.  Thou  shalt  not  lie.  Thou  shalt  not  steal. 
These  are,  for  the  most  part,  negative.  On  the  other 
hand,  most  of  our  positive  obligations  cannot  be  stated 
in  this  absolute  way.  The  duty  of  beneficence,  for 
instance,  is  relative  to  time,  place,  and  circumstance., 

virtue  seems  to  lie  in  what  is  beyond  duty  :  yet  every  such  act  must 
depend  on  the  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  it  is  done,  of 
which  we  leave  the  agent  to  be  the  judge,  and  we  certainly  think  it 
his  duty  to  do  what  is  best."  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p. 
190,  note.  See  also  Adam  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part 
I.,  sect.  II.,  chap,  iv.,  Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  III.,  chap, 
ii.,  Rickaby's  Moral  Philosophy,  p.  70, 

1  Utilttarianism,  chap.  v.  Some  other  writers  have  limited  the 
applicafion  of  the  term  Justice  to  those  actions  which  can  be  enforced 
by  national  law.  Thus  Adam  Smith  says  {Theory  of  Moral  Senti- 
ments, Part  II.,  sect.  II.,  chap,  i.)  :  "The  man  who  barely  abstains 
from  violating  either  the  person,  or  the  estate,  or  the  reputation  of 
his  neighbours,  has  surely  very  little  positive  merit.  He  fulfils,  how- 
ever, all  the  rules  of  what  is  peculiarly  called  justice,  and  does  every- 
thing which  his  equals  can  with  propriety  force  him  to  do,  or  which 
they  can  punish  him  for  not  doing.  We  may  often  fulfil  all  the  rules 
of  justice  by  sitting  still  and  doing  nothing."    Cf  the  Note  at  the 

end  of  chap.  x. 

^Metaphysic  of  Morals,  section  II.  (Abbott's  translation,  p.  39) 
Observe  what  is  said  in  Mr.  Abbott's  note.  Cf,  also  Caird's  Critical 
Philosophy  of  Kant,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  382-3. 


I  12.] 


THE   DUTIES. 


345 


No  man  can  be  under  an  obligation  to  do  good  in  all 
^ortrof  ways,  but  only  in  some  particular  ways  wh.h 
he  must  in  general  discover  for  himself.  Hence  this 
I^ay  be  called  an  Imperfect  Obligation,  because  it  can- 
nnt  be  definitely  formulated.  ...         r 

N^i It  is  no  doubt  true  that  there  is  a  distinction  of 
thi^  tod      There  is.  indeed,  a  threefold  distn.cjon  be- 
tween duties  of  different  kinds.     There  are   >n  the  first 
Jace   those  duties  that  can  be  definitely  formulated, 
S  ;mbodied  in  the  laws  of  a  State,  w^h  pe"a,t.es 
attached  to  their  violation.     In  the  second  Pla«,  there 
are  those  duties  that  cannot  be  put  nito  the  form  of 
national  laws   or  that  it  would  be  very  mconvement  to 
"t    u!  such  a  form,  but  which,  nevertheless^  every 
g^od  citizen  may  be  expected  to  observe.     In  the  third 
n°ace   there  are  duties  which  we  may  demand  of  some, 
^"^  I'ofof  others;  or  which  different  individuals  can 
only  be  expected  to  fulfil  in  varying  degrees^      But  he 
distinction  between  these  different  classes  of  duties  is 
no   a  rigid  one.     The  duties  that  can  be  made  obliga- 
tory by  law  vary  from  time  to  time,  according  to  the 
c'Luution  of  the  State  concerned,  and  the  degree  o 
the  civilization  of  its  people.     The  same  applies  to  those 
duties  that  every  good  citizen  may  fairly  be  expected 
to  observe.     Consequently,  while   -*  -"^  g^"     ™! 
and  place  it  might  be  possible  to  draw  out  a  list  of  the 

1  This  was  the  original  meaning  of  Duties  of  Perfect  Obligation 
K  n?aUe"d  the  use'of  the  phrase.  Some  points  i"  connect.on  w.h 
the  relation  between  Ethics  and  Jurisprudence  w,  1  be  f°™d  ^^f " 
brought  out  in  Adam  Smith's  TUeory  of  Moral  ScnUments,  Part  V 1., 

'"frhl' fulfilment  of  these  in  an  eminent  degree  ™gWl'^^?;f '^ 
conltUute  Virtue,  as  distinguished  from  D"ty.m  the  sense  explamed 
above.    But  this  is  on  the  whole  an  inconvenient  usage. 


34^ 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


Duties  of  Perfect  Obligation,  and  to  express  them  in  a 
code  of  Commandments,  yet  the  tables  of  stone  on 
which  these  were  engraved  would  require  to  be  periodi- 
cally broken  up.'  And  many  of  the  most  important 
duties  for  any  particular  individual  would  remain  un- 
formulated. 

§  13.  My  Station  and  its  Duties. — The  determination 
of  a  man's  duties,  therefore,  must  be  left  largely  to  his 
individual  insight.  Ethics  can  do  little  more  than  lay 
down  commandments  w^th  regard  to  his  general  atti- 
tude in  acting.  In  the  details  of  his  action,  however, 
a  man  is  not  left  entirely  without  guidance.  Human 
beings  do  not  drop  from  the  clouds.  Men  are  born 
with  particular  aptitudes  and  in  a  particular  environ- 
ment ;  and  they  generally  find  their  sphere  of  activity 
marked  out  for  them,  within  pretty  narrow  limits. 
They  find  themselves  fixed  in  a  particular  station,  help- 
ing to  carry  forward  a  general  system  of  life  ;  and  their 
chief  duties  are  connected  with  the  effective  execution 
of  their  work.  Hence  the  force  of  Carlyle's  great 
principle,  "  Do  the  Duty  that  lies  nearest  thee."*     The 

1  This  of  course  is  no  sufficient  reason  for  not  formulating  them  as 
well  as  we  can.  As  Hegel  says  {Philosophy  of  Right,  §  216),  "The 
universal  law  cannot  be  forever  the  ten  commandments.  Yet  it 
would  be  absurd  to  refuse  to  set  up  the  law  'Thou  shalt  not  kill'  on 
the  ground  that  a  statute-book  cannot  be  made  complete.  Every 
statute-book  can  of  course  be  better.  It  is  patent  to  the  most  idle 
reflection  that  the  most  excellent,  noble,  and  beautiful  can  be  con- 
ceived of  as  still  more  excellent,  noble,  and  beautiful.  A  large  old 
tree  branches  more  and  more  without  becoming  a  new  tree  in  the 
process  ;  it  would  be  folly,  however,  not  to  plant  a  new  tree  for  the 
reason  that  it  was  destined  in  time  to  have  new  branches." 

^Sartor  Resartiis,  Book  II.,  chap.  ix. :  "The  situation  that  has  not 
its  Duty,  its  Ideal,  was  never  yet  occupied  by  man."  See  also  the 
admirable  chapter  by  Mr,  Bradley  on  "  My  Station  and  its  Duties  " 


§13.1 


THE   DUTIES. 


347 


II 


prime  duty  of  a  workman  of  any  kind  is  to  do  his  work 
well  to  be  a  good  workman. '  Of  course  he  must  first 
have  ascertained  that  his  work  is  a  valuable  one,  and 
one  that  he  is  fitted  to  do  well.  Having  thus  found  his 
place  in  life,  he  will  not  as  a  rule  have  much  difficulty 
in  ascertaining  what  are  the  commandments  that  apply 
within  that  sphere.  Hence  the  important  point  on  the 
whole  is  not  to  know  what  the  rules  of  action  are,  but 
rather  the  type  of  character  that  is  to  be  developed  m 
us  A  well-developed  character,  placed  in  a  given  sit- 
uation, will  soon  discover  rules  for  itself.^    Thus,  we 

^Ethical  Studies,  Essay  V.).  ^Z  Dewey's  O./Zm.s  0/ EZ/ncsP^^^^^ 
"  The  moral  endeavour  of  man  takes  the  form  not  of  isola  ed  fancies 
about  right  and  wrong,  not  of  attempts  to  frame  a  morality  for  him- 
self  not  of  efforts  to  bring  into  being  some  praiseworthy  ideal  never 
realized  •  but  the  form  of  sustaining  and  furthering  the  moral  world 
olthich  he  is  a  member.>'  Thus  we  agree,  after  all,  with  the  view 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  that  a  good  action  is  one  that  "is  drivmg  on  the 
system  of  life."    But  for  this  view  we  now  have  a  rational  justih- 

cation 

iCf.  Muirheads  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  47=  "An  artisan  or  an 
artist  or  a  writer  who  does  not  'do  his  best'  is  not  only  an  inferior 
workman  but  a  bad  man."  Mr.  Muirhead  quotes  Carlyles  saying 
about  a  bad  joiner,  that  he  "broke  the  whole  decalogue  with  every 
stroke  of  his  hammer."  See  also  Dewey's  Otitltnes  of  Ethics,  p.  112  : 
«  The  good  artisan  '  has  his  heart  in  his  work.'  His  self-respect  makes 
it  necessary  for  him  to  respect  his  technical  or  artistic  capacity -.  and 
to  do  the  best  by  it  that  he  can  without  scrimping  or  lowering.       _ 

2  It  may  be  worth  while  to  note  here  that  rules  of  conduct  are,  in 
general,  valuable  for  us  in  proportion  as  our  interest  in  the  concrete 
maUer  concerned  is  small.  A  man  does  not  want  rules  for  the  per- 
formance  of  anything  which  he  has  deeply  at  heart.  Thus,  a  serious 
student  has  little  need  of  rules  for  study.  His  own  interest  is  a  suf- 
ficient guide.  On  the  other  hand,  a  man  whose  main  work  does  not 
lie  in  study,  but  who  is  able  to  devote  a  few  hours  to  it  now  and  then, 
may  find  it  advantageous  to  have  definite  rules  for  the  perform- 
ance  of  the  uncongenial  task.  So  it  is  in  life  generally.  Christian- 
ity abolished  the  external  rules  of  Judaism,  by  enjoining  upon  us  an 


348 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


are  naturally  led  from  the  consideration  of  the  com- 
mandments to  the  consideration  of  the  virtues.' 

interest  in  life  instead.  Such  an  interest  is  the  only  safe  final  guide. 
But  so  long  as  such  an  interest  cannot  be  pre-supposed,  particular 
rules  retain  a  certain  relative  value.  Some  very  suggestive  remarks 
on  this  point  will  be  found  in  Adam  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Senti- 
ments, Part  III.,  sect.  IV.  He  there  gives  some  interesting  examples 
of  actions  which  are  naturally  done  in  obedience  to  rule,  because  our 
interest  in  them  is  slight ;  and  of  others  which  are  naturally  done 
rather  from  an  interest  in  the  object  to  be  attained. 

1  Prof.  Dewey  says  {Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  231)  :  "  It  is  a  common 
remark  that  moral  codes  change  from  '  Do  not '  to '  Do,'  and  from  this 
to  '  Be.'  A  Mosaic  code  may  attempt  to  regulate  the  specific  acts  of 
life.  Christianity  says,  '  Be  ye  perfect.'  The  effort  to  exhaust  the 
various  special  right  acts  is  futile.  They  are  not  the  same  for  any 
two  men,  and  they  change  constantly  with  the  same  man.  The  very 
words  which  denote  virtues  come  less  and  less  to  mean  specific  acts, 
and  more  the  spirit  in  which  conduct  occurs."  C/.  Muirhead's  Ele- 
ments of  Ethics,  p.  71,  note. 


THE   DUTIES. 


349 


Note  on  Rules  of  Conduct. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  some  readers  will  be  a  good  deal  disappointed 
by  the  results  of  this  chapter.    Many  of  tiiose  who  take  up  the 
study  of  Ethics  expect  to  find  in  it  some  cut-and^ried  formulas  for 
the  guidance  of  their  daily  lives.    They  expect  the  ethical  philoso- . 
pher  to  explain  to  them,  as  I  once  heard  it  put,  what  they  ought  to 
get  up  and  do  to-morrow  morning.    And  no  doubt  it  is  true  enough 
in  a  sense  that  the  ethical  philosopher,  if  he  is  good  for  anythmg, 
will  explain  this.    He  will  explain  to  them  the  spirit  m  which  they 
ought  to  apply  themselves  to  the  particular  situation  before  them 
to-morrow  morning.    But  most  people,  and  especially  most  English 
people  are  not  content  with  this.    The  cause  of  this  discontent  is  no 
doubt  partly  that  most  of  us  have  become  accustomed  in  our  youth 
to  a  code  of  Ten  Commandments,  generally  accompanied  by  cer- 
tain subordinate  rules  deduced  from  them.    Partly,  again,  it  is  that 
most  of  the  English  schools  of  Ethics  have  connected  themselves 
closely  with  Jurisprudence,!  and  have  thus  given  encouragement  to 
the  notion  that  a  set  of  moral  laws  might  be  devised  similar  to  the 
laws  of  a  nation.    Now  I  admit  of  course  that  it  is  possible  to  draw 
out  certain  rules  of  conduct,  founded  on  the  general  nature  of  human 
life  and  the  conditions  under  which  it  has  to  be  carried  on  ;  and  it 
is  part  of  the  task  of  the  moral  philosopher  to  explain  the  general 
nature  of  these  rules,  and  to  show  their  place  in  the  conduct  of  life. 
This  I  have  endeavoured  to  do.    But  to  suppose  that  Ethics  is  called 
upon  to  do  more  than  this  appears  to  me  to  be  a  most  fatal  error. 
Happily  life  cannot  yet  be  reduced  to  rule.    A  moral  genius  must 
always    like  Mirabeau,  "swallow  his  formulas"  and  start  afresh. 
Pedantry  will  not  carry  one  far  in  life,2  any  more  than  in  literature. 
At  the  same  time,  while  emphasizing  this  point,  I  have  certainly 
no  wish  to  rush  to  the  opposite  extreme.    There  has  been  so  strong 
a  tendency  in  former  times  to  lay  down  an  absolute  "  ought "  m 


1  The  chaotic  state  of  English  law  led  men  like  Bentham  to  seek 
for  a  rational  basis  of  Jurisprudence  in  ethical  principles.  This  ap- 
plication of  Ethics  has  reacted  on  the  study  of  Ethics  itself.  On  the 
Continent  the  prevalence  of  Roman  Law  has  perhaps  made  the 
demand  for  a  fresh  ethical  basis  less  urgent. 

2  There  are  some  good  remarks  on  this  point  in  Adler's  Moral 
Instruction  of  Children,  pp.  19-23. 


3  so 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  III. 


Ethics,  with  a  rigid  scheme  of  obligations  hanging  from  it,  that  now, 
by  a  not  unnatural  reaction,  we  find  a  number  of  our  ethical  writers 
treading  very  gingerly,  hesitating  to  say  that  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  duty,  apologizing  for  the  use  of  the  word  "  ought,"  and  mildly 
conceding  that  Ethics  is  of  no  practical  value.    This  extreme  appears 
to  me  to  be  quite  as  pernicious  as  the  other.    It  is  the  function  of  the 
ethical  philosopher  to  discover  and  define  the  supreme  end  of  life. 
This  is  what  all  the  great  ethical  writers  have  done,  from  Plato  and 
Aristotle  to  Spinoza,  Kant,  Hegel,  and  Green.    As  soon  as  this  end  is 
clearly  seen,  the  duty  of  pursuing  it  becomes  an  absolute  imperative, 
from  which  there  is  no  escape.    And  with  this  end  in  view,  the 
whole  of  our  life  falls  into  shape.     Hence,  as  Aristotle  puts  it,i  "  from 
a  practical  point  of  view  it  much  concerns  us  to  know  this  good ; 
for  then,  like  archers  shooting  at  a  definite  mark,  we  shall  be  more 
likely  to  attain  what  we  want."    Undoubtedly,  in  this  sense.  Ethics 
is  of  the  greatest  practical  value.    Nor  is  its  value  in  any  way  dimin- 
ished  by  the  fact  that  the  moral  genius,  or  even  the  man  of  ordi- 
nary  good  sense,  may  act  well  without  any  knowledge  of  Ethics. 
The  human  end  is  involved  in  man's  very  existence.     No  one  can 
exist  at  all  without  being  in  some  degree  conscious  of  it.    The  task 
of  the  moral  philosopher  is  only  that  of  bringing  it  to  clear  con- 
sciousness.   Only  that !    In  the  same  way,  the  task  of  the  poet  is  ofily 
that  of  making  clear  to  us  the  beauty  that  is  everywhere  around  us. 
The  task  of  the  metaphysician  is  ow/ythat  of  bringing  out  the  mean- 
ing and  connection  of  the  principles  made  use  of  in  the  sciences. 
This  "  only "  is  a  little  out  of  place. 

While  we  must  insist,  then,  that  it  is  not  the  task  of  Ethics  to  furnish 
us  with  copy-book  headings  for  the  guidance  of  life,  we  must  equally 
insist  that  it  is  its  task  to  furnish  us  with  practical  principles— to 
bring  the  nature  of  the  highest  good  to  clear  consciousness,  and  to 
indicate  the  general  nature  of  the  means  by  which  this  good  is 
to  be  attained.  It  thus  tells  us,  not  indeed  the  particular  rules  by 
which  our  lives  are  to  be  guided,  but  what  is  of  infinitely  greater 
practical  importance— the  spirit  in  which  our  lives  are  to  be  lived 

I  am  well  aware  that  all  this  will  seem  unsatisfactory  to  many 
minds.  The  military  spirit  is  deeply  rooted  in  human  nature.  Men 
are  eager  to  catch  the  word  of  command,  and  are  disappointed  when 
they  are  only  told,  as  by  Jesus,  to  "love  one  another,"  or,  as  by 
Hegel,  to  "  be  persons,"  or,  as  in  the  vision  of  Dante,  to  "  follow  their 
star."    And,  indeed,  as  I  have  already  said.  Ethics  does  supply  some. 


1  Ethics,  I.  ii.  2. 


THE   DUTIES. 


351 


thing  more  than  this.  It  does  interpret  for  us  the  meaning  and  im- 
portance  of  some  more  special  rules.  But  assuredly  neither  Ethurs 
nor  anything  else  will  tell  a  man  what  in  particular  he  is  to  do 
There  would  be  an  end  of  the  whole  significance  of  life  if  any  such 
information  were  to  be  had.  All  action  that  is  of  much  consequence 
has  reference  to  concrete  situations,  which  could  not  possibly  be 
exhausted  by  any  abstract  methods  of  analysis.  It  is  the  special  busi- 
ness of  every  human  being  to  find  out  for  himself  what  he  is  to  do. 
and  to  do  it.  Ethics  only  instructs  him  where  to  look  for  it,  and 
helps  him  to  see  why  it  is  worth  while  to  find  it  and  to  do  it.  Like 
all  sciences,  it  leaves  its  principles  in  the  end  to  be  applied  by  the 
instructed  good  sense  of  mankind.^ 


1  It  may  perhaps  appear  that  this  point  has  been  somewhat  over- 
emphasized ;  but  I  think  there  is  a  real  danger  of  misconception 
here,  and  I  have  been  anxious  to  guard  against  it.  On  the  general 
question  involved,  it  maybe  well  to  refer,  in  addition  to  the  authori- 
ties already  cited,  to  Mill's  System  of  Logic,  Book  VI.,  chap,  xii., 
Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  IV.,  chaps,  iv.  and  v.,  Green's 
Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  IV.,  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  Right,  Intro- 
duction, Bosanquefs  Civilization  of  Christendom,  p.  j6o,sqq.,  and  the 
article  by  Mr.  Muirhead  on  "  Abstract  and  Practical  Ethics  "  in  the 
American  Journal  of  Sociology  for  November,  1896. 


352 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


§2.] 


THE  VIRTUES. 


353 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE    VIRTUES. 


§  1.  Relation  of  the  Virtues  to  the  Commandments. 
When  we  have  ascertained  what  are  the  most  important 
commandments,  we  have  at  the  same  time  discovered 
to  a  considerable  extent  what  are  the  most  important 
virtues. '  The  virtuous  man  will  be  on  the  whole  the 
man  who  has  a  steadfast  habit  of  obeying  the  com- 
mandments. There  are,  however,  many  virtuous  hab- 
its which  do  not  correspond  to  any  commandments 
that  can  be  definitely  formulated.^  Moreover,  as  the 
virtues  ar^concerned  mainly  with  inner  habits  of  mind, 
whereas  the  commandments  deal  with  overt  acts,3  the 

1  Virtue  (from  Latin  vir,  a  man  or  hero)  meant  originally  man- 
liness or  valour.  The  Greek  aper^  (from  the  same  root  as  Ares,  the 
god  of  war)  and  the  German  Tugend  (connected  with  our  English 
word  "doughty")  have  a  somewhat  similar  origin.  The  term  is 
here  employed  to  denote  a  good  habit  of  character,  as  distinguished 
from  a  Duty,  which  denotes  rather  some  particular  kind  of  action 
that  we  ought  to  perform.  Thus  a  man  docs  his  Duty  ;  but  he  pos- 
sesses a  Virtue,  or  is  virtuous.  Another  sense  in  which  the  term 
"Virtue"  is  used,  has  been  already  noticed  above  (chap,  iii.,  §  12). 

2  Mr.  Alexander  {Moral  Order  and  Progress,  p.  253)  definitely  con- 
nects the  virtues,  as  well  as  the  duties,  with  social  institutions.  In 
both  cases  there  seems  to  be  some  exaggeration  in  this.  Cf.  Muir- 
hea.d's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  188. 

8  The  Jewish  commandments,  as  interpreted  in  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount,  and  by  modern  Christian  thought,  are  of  course  concerned 
with  the  heart  as  well  as  with  outer  acts.  Also  the  summary  of  the 
commandments  in  terms  of  love  refers  entirely  to  an  inner  habit  of 
mind.    But  when  the  commandments  are  thus  summed  up,  they 


lines  of  cleavage  in  dealing  with  the  virtues  are  natu- 
rally somewhat  different  from  those  that  we  find  in 
dealing  with  the  commandments.  Hence  it  seems 
desirable  to  devote  a  separate  chapter  to  the  subject  of 

the  virtues. 

§2.  Virtues   relative  to   States   of    Society. — The 
virtues  which  it  is  desirable  for  human  beings  to  culti- 
vate vary  considerably  with  different  times  and  places. 
They  are  more  variable  even  than  the  commandments  ' ; 
because  the  latter  confine  themselves  to  those  broad 
principles   of  conduct   which   are   applicable  to  nearly 
all  the  conceivable  conditions  of  life.     At  the  same 
time,  even  the  virtues  are  less  changeable  than  they 
are  apt  at  first  sight  to  appear.     The   Greek  virtue  of 
courage,  confined  almost  entirely  to  valour  in  battle, 
has  but  little  correspondence  to   anything  that  is  su- 
premely important  in  modern  life.     Yet  the  temper  of 
mind   which  it   indicates  is   one  for   which  there  is  as 
much  demand  now  as   ever.=^     And  so  it  is  also  with 
most  of  the  other  virtues.     The  precise  conditions  of 
their  exercise  change  ;  but  the  habit  of  mind  remains 
intrinsically  the  same.      Still,    even  the  habit  of  mind 
does  undergo  some  alteration.     The  kind  of  fortitude 
which   is  required   for  valour  in  battle  is,  even  in  its 
most   inward   aspect,    somewhat   different    from    that 

cease  to  be  particular  rules.  Particular  rules  relate  to  particular 
modes  of  action.  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  70.  For  a 
discussion  of  the  relation  of  Virtue  to  Duty,  see  Sidgwick's  Methods 
of  Ethics,  Book  HI.,  chap.  ii.  The  following  chapters  of  the  same 
book  contain  interesting  analyses  of  most  of  the  particular  virtues. 
Cf  Rickaby's  Moral  Philosophy,  Part  I ,  chap.  v. 

1  In  that  broad  sense  in  which  alone,  as  we  have  seen,  universally 
significant  commandments  can  be  laid  down. 

2  See  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  HI.,  chap.  v. 

Eth.  23 


354 


ETHICS, 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


fortitude  which  sustains  the  modern  man  of  science, 
politician,  scholar,  or  philanthropist.  Hence  this  side 
of  ethical  study  is  one  which  each  generation  of  writers 
requires  almost  to  reconsider  for  itself.  However  in- 
structive the  great  work  of  Aristotle  may  still  remain 
on  this  point  (and  there  is  perhaps  nothing  more  in- 
structive in  the  whole  range  of  ethical  literature),  it  is 
yet  not  quite  directly  applicable  to  the  conditions  of 
modern  life.  In  order  to  understand  what  are  the  most 
important  virtues  for  us  to  cultivate  in  modern  times, 
it  is  necessary  to  consider  them  in  relation  to  the 
structure  and  requirements  of  modern  society. 

§  3.  The  Ethos  of  a  People. — It  is  for  this  reason 
that  it  is  so  important,  from  an  ethical  point  of  view, 
to  study  carefully  what  the  Germans  call  the  Siiten  » 
(the  moral  habitudes  of  thought  and  action)  of  differ- 
ent times  and  peoples.  We  have  no  English  word 
that  quite  expresses  this  idea  ;  but,  instead  of  having 
recourse  to  the  German,  we  may  use  a  Greek  term,  and 
speak  of  the  etlios  of  a  people.*  The  ethos  of  a  people 
is  partly  constituted  by  definite  rules  or  precepts.  The 
Ten  Commandments  formed  a  very  important  element 
in  the  ethos  of  the  Jews ;  and  they  have  continued, 

i  The  English  word  "  Manners  "  used  to  have  a  meaning  closely 
approximating  to  this,  but  it  has  deteriorated.  See  I ntet  national 
Journal oj  Ethics,  Vol.  VII.,  no.  i. 

2  Cf.  Bradley's  Ethical  Studies,  chap,  v.,  especially  p.  156,  where 
the  following  is  quoted  from  Hegel :  "  The  child,  in  his  character  of 
the  form  of  the  possibility  of  a  moral  individual,  is  something  sub- 
jective or  negative  ;  his  growing  to  manhood  is  the  ceasing  to  be  of 
this  form,  and  his  education  is  the  discipline  or  the  compulsion 
thereof.  The  positive  side  and  the  essence  is  that  he  is  suckled  at 
the  breast  of  the  universal  Ethos"  Similarly  on  p.  169:  "The  wisest 
men  of  antiquity  have  given  judgment  that  wisdom  and  virtue  con- 
sist in  living  agreeably  to  the  Ethos  of  one's  people." 


§3.] 


THE   VIRTUES. 


355 


with  certain  modifications  and  enlargements,  to  form 
an  important  element  in  the  ethos  of  modern  European 
peoples.  The  precepts  contained  in  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  have  perhaps  never  been  sufficiently  appro- 
priated by  the  world  in  general  to  be  made  definitely 
into  a  part  of  the  ethos  of  any  people  ;  but  they  have 
undoubtedly  exercised  a  most  profound  influence  on 
the  ethos  of  nearly  all  civilized  nations.  The  ethos  of 
a  people,  then,  is  partly  expressed  in  definite  com- 
mands and  precepts.  But  partly  also  it  consists  in  re- 
cognized habits  of  action  and  standards  of  judgment 
which  have  never  been  precisely  formulated.  Thus, 
in  England  there  is  a  general  idea  of  the  kind  of  con- 
duct which  is  fitting  in  a  "  gentleman  "  ;  and  though  it 
mieht  be  difficult  to  reduce  this  standard  to  the  form  of 

o 

definite  rules,  yet  it  has  undoubtedly  exercised  a  great 
influence  in  forming  the  ethos  of  our  people. 

The  ethos  of  a  people,  then,  we  may  say,  constitutes 
the  atmosphere  in  which  the  best  members  of  a  race 
habitually  live  ;  or,  in  language  that  we  have  previously 
employed,  it  constitutes  the  universe  of  their  moral 
activities.  It  is  the  morality  of  our  world  ;  and  on  the 
whole  the  man  who  conforms  to  the  morality  of  that 
world  is  a  good  man,  and  the  man  who  violates  it  is  a 
bad  man.     Mr.    Bradley  has  even  said  emphatically  ^ 

1  Ethical  Studies,  p.  180.  So  also  on  p.  181  he  says :  "  We  should 
consider  whether  the  encouraging  oneself  in  having  opinions  of 
one's  own,  in  the  sense  of  thinking  differently  from  the  world  on 
moral  subjects,  be  not,  in  any  person  other  than  a  heaven-born 
prophet,  sheer  self-conceit."  There  is,  however,  some  paradox  in 
this.  A  man  may  be  a  moral  reformer  in  a  small  way,  without 
being  exactly  a  "  heaven-born  prophet."  The  suffering  or  witness- 
ing of  wrong  in  some  particular  form,  for  instance,  often  makes  a 
man  sensitive  to  an  evil  to  which  most  men  are  callous.    Also  the 


f 


35^ 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


that  the  man  who  seeks  to  have  a  higher  morality  than 
that  of  his  world  is  on   the  threshold  of  immorality. 
But  this  is  an  exaggeration.     For  the  ethos  of  a  people 
is  not  a  stationary  thing.'     It  develops,  like  social  Hfe 
generally  ;  and  its  development  is  brought  about  mainly 
by  the  constant  effort  of  the  best  members   of  a  race 
to  reach  a  higher  standard  of  life  than  that  which  they 
find   current    around   them.     The    xaXoxdyaOo^    of  the 
Greeks  might  occasionally  permit  himself  to  do  many 
things,  and  to  abstain  from  doing  many  things,  which 
would  scarcely   be   thought   becoming   in  a   modern 
''gentleman";  while    the    teachings    of  Christianity 
hold  up  to  us  an  ideal  of  life  which  has  not  yet  been 
fully  embodied  in  the  current  morality  of  the  world. 
While,  then,  it  is  on  the  whole  true  that  the  ethos  of 
our  people  furnishes  us  with   our  moral  standard,  it 
must   yet  be  remembered  that  it  is  often  desirable  to 
elevate  that  standard  itself.* 

disciples  of  the  "  heaven-born  prophets  "  will  for  a  time  hold  opinions 
different  from  those  of  the  world.  But  what  Mr.  Bradley  means  is 
simply  Try  to  be  as  good  as  your  world .//rs^-  after  that  you  may 
seek  to  make  it  better.  His  meaning  is  similar  to  that  of  Burke 
{Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France)  :  "  We  are  afraid  to  put  men 
to  live  and  trade  each  on  his  own  private  stock  of  reason  ;  because 
we  susnect  that  the  stock  in  each  man  is  small,  and  that  the  mdi- 
viduals  would  do  better  to  avail  themselves  of  the  general  bank  and 
capital  of  nations  and  of  ages." 

1  Sometimes,  indeed,  it  is  a  highly  artificial  thmg,  brought  mto 
being  by  the  accidental  circumstances  of  a  particular  trnie  and  place. 
Thus  Adam  Smith  remarks  {Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  P^ri  V.. 
sect  II )  that  "in  the  reign  of  Charles  H.  a  degree  of  licentiousness 
was  deemed  the  characteristic  of  a  liberal  education.  It  was  con- 
nected  according  to  the  notions  of  those  times,  with  generosity, 
sincerity,  magnanimity,  loyalty,  and  proved  that  the  person  who 
acted  in  this  manner  was  a  gentleman,  and  not  a  puritan. 

2  Cf.  below,  chap.  vii. 


4-] 


THE  VIRTUES. 


357 


Now  the  virtues  that  are  current  among  a  people  at 
a  given  time  are  the  expression  in  particular  forms  of 
the  ethos  of  that  people  ;  and  their  significance  can  be 
appreciated  only  in  relation  to  the  general  life  of  the 

times. 

§  4.  Virtues  relative  to  the  Social  Functions. — Not 
only,  however,  are  the  virtues  relative  to  different 
times  and  different  social  conditions  :  they  are  also 
relative  to  the  functions  that  different  individuals  have 
to  fulfil  in  society.  Here  again  it  is  true  that  the 
differences  are  not  so  great  as  one  is  apt  to  think. 
We  are  apt  to  say  that  a  poor  man  cannot  exercise  the 
virtue  of  liberality  ;  and  that  a  man  who  is  rich  and 
prosperous  has  little  need  for  the  virtue  of  patience. 
This  is  to  a  large  extent  true  ;  yet  the  habit  of  mind 
which  with  a  rich  man  leads  to  liberality  may  equally 
well  be  present,  and  is  equally  admirable,  in  one  who 
is  poor.  And  the  same  applies  to  other  qualities. 
Still,  it  remains  on  the  whole  true  that  the  virtues 
which  we  respect  and  admire  in  a  man  are  not  quite 
the  same  as  those  of  a  woman  ;  that  those  of  the  rich 
are  not  quite  the  same  as  those  of  the  poor ;  those  of 
an  old  man  not  quite  the  same  as  those  of  a  young 
man ;  those  of  a  parent  not  quite  the  same  as  those  of 
a  child  ;  those  of  a  man  in  health  not  quite  the  same 
as  those  of  one  who  is  sick  ;  those  of  a  commercial 
mail  not  quite  the  same  as  those  of  a  man  of  science  ; 
and  so  in  other  cases.  In  describing  the  virtues,  there- 
fore, we  must  either  go  somewhat  minutely  into  the 
consideration  of  different  circumstances  of  life,  and  of 
the  qualities  that  are  most  desirable  under  these  vary- 
ing conditions  ;  or  else  we  must  confine  ourselves  to 
statements    that    are    very   general    and   vague.     The 


358 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


6.] 


THE  VIRTUES. 


359 


limits  ot  space  and  the  difficulties  of  the  subject  both 
lead  us  to  adopt  the  latter  alternative. 

§  5.  The   Nature  of  Virtue. — The   virtues,    as  was 
admirably  pointed  out  by  Aristotle,  are  habits  of  deli- 
berate choice.     To  be  virtuous  means  to  have  a  char- 
acter so  developed  that  we  habitually  choose  to  act  in 
the  right  way.      Now  as  the  right  action  nearly  always 
stands  between  two  possible  bad  actions — one  erring 
by   excess    and    the   other   by   defect— Aristotle   con- 
sidered '  that  virtue  consists  essentially  in  a  habit  of 
choosing  the  mean.      He  well  added,  however,  that  it 
is  the  choice  of  the  relative  mean — /'.  e.  of  the  particular 
intermediate  course  which  is  appropriate  to  the  par- 
ticular individual   in   question,    and   to   the  particular 
circumstances   in    which    he    is    placed.      That    mean 
must  be  determined  in  each  case  by  a  consideration  of 
its  conduciveness  to  the  general  development  of  social 
life.     To  hit  upon  it  rightly  is  often  a  problem  for  in- 
dividual tact  and  insight ;  but  a  study  of  the  greatest 
examples  in  human  history  is  in  many  cases  a  valuable 
aid  in  deciding  on  the  most  fitting  conduct  in  a  given 

case. 

§  6.  The  Cardinal  Virtues.— From  the  earliest  pe- 
riods of  ethical  speculation,  attempts  have  been  made 
to  enumerate  the  various  forms  of  virtues.  The  most 
celebrated  of  these  lists  are  those  given  by  Plato  and 
Aristotle.  The  former  seems  to  have  been  current 
among  Greek  moralists  even  before  the  time  of  Plato. 
It  has  at  least  the  merit  of  simplicity,  containing  only 
four  cardinal^  virtues— Wisdom  (or  Prudence),  Courage 

1  Ethics,  Book  II.,  chaps,  vi.— ix.    C/.  Sid^nvick's  History  of  Ethics, 

V'  59- 

2  From  cardo,  a  hinge.    The  Cardinal  Virtues  are  supposed  to  be 


(or   Fortitude),    Temperance    (or   Self-Restraint),    and 
Justice  (or  Righteousness).     This  classification,  how- 
ever, simple  as  i^  appears,  was  soon  found  to  give  rise 
to  considerable  difficulties.     It  began  to  be  perceived, 
for  instance,   that  in  a  certain   sense  the  first  of  the 
virtues   includes    all    the   others  ;    for    every    virtuous 
activity  consists  in   acting  wisely  in   some  particular 
relationship.     Again,  Justice  (or  Righteousness)  seems 
to  be  made  somewhat  too  comprehensive  in  its  mean- 
ing when  it  is  used  to  include  (as,  on  this  acceptation, 
it  must)  all  the  social  virtues.     Perceiving  these  and 
other  defects  in  the  catalogue  of  the  virtues,  Aristotle 
was  led  to  a  considerable  expansion  of  the  list.^     But 
his  expansion  had  so  constant  a  reference  to  the  virtues 
that  were  expected  of  an  Athenian  citizen  that  its  direct 
interest  for  modern  life  is  comparatively  slight.     And 
it  would  perhaps  be  somewhat  futile  to  attempt  to 
draw  up  any  similar  catalogue  specially  adapted  for 

those  on  which  the  others  hinge  or  depend    Cf.  the  Cardinals  in 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

1  It  might  be  held,  however,  that  Plato  and  Aristotle  were  m 
reality  engaged  on  distinct  problems.  Plato  sought  to  ^ve  an  ac- 
count of  the  Cardinal  Virtues— t.  c.  the  general  elements  involved 
in  all  virtuous  activities  ;  whereas  Aristotle  sought  to  give  a  list  of 
special  virtues,  exhibited  not  in  all  virtuous  activities,  but  in  parti- 
cular kinds  of  virtuous  activity.  But  this  view  seems  to  me  to  be 
scarcely  tenable.  The  distinction  here  referred  to  is  clearly  drawn 
by  Prof.  Dewey  in  his  Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  230.  I  am  doubtful, 
however,  whether  his  interpretation  of  the  term  "  cardinal  virtue  " 
is  sanctioned  by  the  best  usage.  He  means  those  general  charac- 
teristics of  a  virtuous  attitude,  such  as  purity  of  heart,  disinterested- 
ness, conscientiousness,  and  the  like,  which  belong  to  the  very 
essence  of  virtue  as  such.  The  relation  of  such  qualities  of  the 
"mner  life"  to  the  virtues  proper  is  partly  dealt  with  in  the  next 
chapter.  For  the  origin  of  the  phrase  "  cardinal  virtue,'  see  Sidg- 
wick's  History  of  Ethics,  p.  I33-    Q-  Rickaby's  Moral  Philosophy,  p.  84. 


%: 


ii 


360 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


modern  times,  with  their  complicated  problems  and 
varied  relationships. '  Nevertheless,  a  few  suggestions 
towards  such  a  catalogue  may  be  found  useful. 

We  may  note,  to  begin  with,  the  distinction  which 
is  commonly  drawn  between  self-regarding  virtues 
and  those  that  are  altruistic,  or  have  reference  to  the 
good  of  others.  This  distinction  is  apt  to  be  mislead- 
ing. The  individual  has  no  life  of  his  own  independ- 
ent of  his  social  relations  ;  and  any  virtue  which  has 
reference  to  the  good  of  the  individual,  must  have 
reference  also  to  social  well-being.  This  fact,  how- 
ever, need  not  prevent  us  from  distinguishing  between 
the  life  of  an  individual  and  the  wider  world  to  which 
it  is  related  ;  and  some  virtues  may  be  said  to  bear 
specially  on  the  former,  while  others  bear  more  par- 
ticularly on  the  latter.  It  may  be  convenient  to  look 
at  these  two  classes  of  virtues  separately. 

(a)  Taking  the  four  Platonic  virtues  as  a  convenient 
starting-point,  it  is  evident  that  courage  and  temper- 
ance are  the  two  that  bear  specially  ^  on  the  life  of  the 
individual.  If  we  understand  courage  (or  fortitude)  in 
the  wide  sense  of  resistance  to  the  fear  of  pain,  and 
temperance  in  the  equally  wide  sense  of  resistance 
to  the  allurements  of  pleasure,  these  two  virtues  will 
include  all  forms  of  opposition  to  temptation  in  the 
individual  life.  Temptation  appears  either  in  the  form 
of  some  pain  to  be  avoided  or  some  pleasure  to  be 

1  An  interesting  list  has  been  drawn  ur,  in  the  form  of  a  table,  by 
Mr  Muirhead.  in  his  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  201.  Some  suggestive 
remarks  on  the  particular  virtues  required  in  modern  life  will  be 
found  in  Adler's  Moral  Instruction  of  Children,  Lectures  XI.-XV. 

2  Wisdom  as  we  shall  see  immediately,  is  also  directly  concerned 
in  the  guidance  of  the  individual  life.  But  it  applies  equally  to  our 
social  relationships. 


6.] 


THE   VIRTUES. 


361 


secured  •  and  he  who  is  proof  against  these  will  lead  a 
steadfast  life  along  the  lines  that  he  has  chosen.     It  is 
evident,  however,  that  a  man  may  be  courageous  and 
temperate  in  the  conduct  of  his  life,  and  yet  be  hvnig 
foolishly      A  wise  choice  of  the  line  to  be  pursued  is  a 
necessary  preliminary.     If  we  understand  the  Platonic 
virtue  of  wisdom  (or  prudence)  in  this  sense,  we  shall 
have  in  a  manner  a  complete  list  of  the  virtues  required 
for  the  conduct  of  the  individual  life.     But  it  is  evident 
that  each  of  these  virtues  must  be  understood  in  such 
a  sense  as  to  comprehend  under  it  a  great  variety  of 
qualities  not  always  found  together  in  the  same  indi- 
vidual     Thus  wisdom  would  require  to  be  understood 
as  including  care,  foresight,  prudence,  and  also  a  cer- 
tain decisiveness  of  choice.     Courage,    again,    would 
include  both  valour  and  fortitude,  i.  e.  both  the  active 
courage  which  pursues  its  course  in  spite  of  the  pro- 
bability of  pain,  and  the  passive  courage  which  bears 
inevitable  suffering  without  flinching.'     But  these  are 
not   the   same  virtues,    and   are   indeed   perhaps   not 
often   found   together   in    any   high   degree.      Again, 
courage  would  have  to  be  understood  as   including 
perseverance  ;  and  this  seems  a  somewhat  unnatural 
extension  of  its  meaning  ;  just  as  it  is  somewhat  un- 
1  Mrs  Bryant  (Educational  Ends,  pp.  71-2)  regards  fortitude  as  a 
higher  virtue  than  the  more  active  courage  which  goes  to  meet 
danger;  because  the  former  bears  «c/»a;  pain,  the  latter  only  the 
fcaL  pain.    This  is  so  far  true.    Courage  is  a  blmder  virtue  than 
fortitude.     The  courageous  man  sets  pain   aside  and  forgets  it 
whereas  the  man  who  shows  fortitude  is  one  who  «"d"res  an  ac- 
tually present  pain  which  cannot  be  set  aside.    But  on  tjie  other 
hand  co'urage  is  a  more  active  and  voluntary  virtue  than  fort^ide 
It  not  merely  endures  pain,  but  goes  to  meet  .t  in  the  fulfilment  of 
"purpose.    \n  this  respect  courage  seems  to  be  the  higher  virtue  of 
the  two. 


Ill 
%l 


11 


362 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CII.  IV. 


natural  to  include  decision  under  wisdom.  Perhaps 
the  qualities  of  decision,  diligence,  and  perseverance 
would  come  most  naturally  under  a  separate  heading 
by  themselves.  These  qualities  are  concerned  not  so 
much  with  the  resistance  to  the  solicitations  of  plea- 
sure and  pain,  as  with  the  resistance  to  the  natural 
inertia  of  human  nature.  The  Christian  virtues  of 
faith  and  hope  are  closely  connected  with  valour  and 
fortitude,  in  so  far  as  they  supply  the  latter  virtues 
with  an  inner  ground.  A  confident  and  cheerful  view 
of  life  seems  to  be  presupposed  in  the  highest  forms  of 
courage.'  With  reference  to  temperance,  again,  this 
virtue  would  require  to  be  understood  as  including 
the  resistance  to  all  kinds  of  solicitation  from  pleasures, 
whether  sensual  or  intellectual,  in  so  far  as  these  tend 
to  interfere  with  the  conduct  of  life  along  the  lines  that 
have  been  chosen.  Broadly  speaking,  then,  we  should 
be  led  in  this  way  to  recognize  four  distinct  classes  of 
virtues  as  bearing  directly  on  the  conduct  of  the  indi- 
vidual life — wisdom  in  the  choice  of  its  general  course, 
decisiveness  in  pursuing  it,  courage  and  temperance  in 
resisting  the  solicitations  of  pain  and  pleasure.* 

1  Browning's  portraiture  of  Hercules  in  Balaustions  Adventure 
well  illustrates  the  qualities  involved  in  the  highest  forms  of  active 

courage. 

2  Mr.  Muirhead  remarks  {Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  198-9)  that  the  vir- 
tues of  courage  and  temperance  involve  one  another.  "  In  order  to 
be  temperate  a  man  must  be  courageous  :  in  order  to  be  able  to 
resist  the  allurements  of  pleasure  he  must  be  willing  to  endure  the 
pain  that  resistance  involves.  Similarly,  in  order  to  be  courageous, 
he  must  be  temperate."  But  this  is  perhaps  a  needless  subtlety. 
The  man  who  temperately  abstains  from  a  bottle  of  wine  must  no 
doubt  be  courageous  enough  to  face  the  difficulties  and  dangers  in- 
volved in  going  without  it.  But  does  not  this  mean  simply  that 
temperance  is  a  kind  of  neffative  courage  ?  And  does  not  the  dis- 
tinction between  positive  and  negative  still  remain  ? 


6.] 


THE   VIRTUES. 


363 


(b\  The  Virtues  that  relate  to  the  individuals  deal- 
ings with  his  fellow-men  are  perhaps  best  summed  up 
nfder  the    head  of  justice.     At  the   same  t.me,   this 
erm,  as  commonly  understood,   is  much  too  narrow 
o  Tnclude  all  the  virtues  that  arise  in  such  relation- 
ship"      It  must  be  understood,  for  instance   to  n>clude 
not  merely  the  fulfilment  of  contracts,  and  the  perform- 
ance of  every  duty  required  by  the  laws,  express  or 
understood,  of  the  community  to  wh:ch  one  belongs, 
wfalso  p  rfect  honesty  and  fidelity  in  all  one  s  rela- 
tionships with  others.     Mr.  Ruskin  has  taught  us  to 
00k  for  honesty  even  in  modes  of  artistic  expression  ; 
a°  d  this  kind  of  honesty,  as  well  as  others,,  mv^t  be 
h^luded  in  our  idea  of  justice,   if  that  'dea  ts  to  be 
made  to  comprehend  all  the  virtues  connected  with 
^ur  social  obligations.     Further,  the  Christian  .deal  of 
Me  Zs  taughtL  to  expect  something  beyond  the  mere 
satisfaction  of   obligations  in  our   dealings  with    ou 
elow-men  ;  and  indeed  more  than  this  was  expec  ed 
eve^i  by  th^  moral  consciousness  of  the  Greeks.     Ue 
commonly  say  that  generosity  is  expected  as  well  as 
ustice;  a'nd  in  Christian  communities  ^ove  «  -  J     r  - 
Viired.     In  a  sense,  however,  we  may  say  that  al     his 
ou.'ht  to  be  included  in  our  idea  of  justice.'     tor  it  is 
part  of  what  is  due  from  one  individual  to  another  that 

1  Other  instances  of  ^^^V,  «:;:iSo -r^s^^^^^^^^ 
might  easily  be  given,    ^hus  the  student  knowledge  is 
amination  may  be  said  to  be  <i";^;f  ^^^,,^  ,^,,,,,3,  0,  JEsthctic, 
not  genuine.    Again,  what  M..  f  °^''"jf  '='  ,„te  from  a  book  that 
p.  xiii)  "the  scholars  golden  ™'«-"t!'^V°^"?  ;  '(ance  of  the  ex- 

■  he  has  not  read  from  cover  to  cover,  is  a  good  instance 

tension  of  the  idea  of  honesty.  ^^  .      ^ 

2  Thus,  generosity,  as  Mr.  Muirhead  says,     is  only  jus 
•  quately  conceived"  (Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  200). 


3^4 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


the  latter  should  be  treated  not  as  a  mere  thing  to  which 
certain  specifiable  obligation?  are  owed,  but  as  a  person, 
an  absolute  end,  with  infinite  claims.  It  is  true  that  as 
a  general  rule  such  ideal  relationships  are  only  partly- 
attainable  ;  but  the  thoroughly  just  man  will  endeavour 
to  realize  them  as  far  as  possible,  and  will  be  glad 
when  the  external  relationships  of  mere  contract  can 
be  transmuted  into  the  relationships  of  friendship  or 
Christian  love.*  Hence  also  such  ideas  as  those  of 
courtesy,  and  even  of  a  certain  cheerfulness  and  good 
humour  in  social  intercourse  ;  such  efforts  as  that  of 
being,  as  far  as  possible,  all  things  to  all  men,  of  avoid- 
ing all  appearance  of  evil,  of  abstaining  from  that 
which  is  lawful  when  it  is  not  expedient,  and  in  general 
all  the  chivalries  of  the  Christian  gentleman,  are  not 
foreign  to  the  conception  of  justice.  They  are  part  of 
what  w^e  owe  to  one  another  as  persons  and  as  abso- 
lute ends. 

We  see,  then,  that,  by  giving  a  broad  interpretation 
to  each  of  the  terms  used,  we  may  accept  the  old 
Greek  classification  of  the  virtues  with  but  slight  modi- 
fications. The  only  positive  addition  that  we  have  to 
make  is  the  recognition  of  a  virtue  of  decisiveness  and 
perseverance.  Perhaps  it  was  natural  that  the  Greeks 
should  omit  this,  partly  because  their  plan  of  life  was 
more  mapped  out  for  them  beforehand  than  it  is  with 
us,  and  partly  because  with  their  simpler  method  of 
life  steady  persistence  in  any  particular  line  was  less 
essential.     Perhaps  also  the  light  inconstancy  of  the 

1  Here  we  are  in  agreement  with  Carlyle.  Cf.  above,  chap,  ii.,  §  7. 
We  doubt  only  whether  the  abohtion  of  contract  would  of  itself 
produce  this  desirable  result.  Justice  must  on  the  whole  precede 
generosity. 


6.] 


THE  VIRTUES. 


365 


Athenian  character,  its  perennial  youthfuhiess,  made 
the  omission  of  this  stern  virtue  easy.  A  Roman 
would  scarcely  have  forgotten  the  idea  of  disciplined 
application  ;  ■  an  Englishman  would  not  naturally  omit 
decision  of  character:  a  German  would  remember 
Daurharkeit.^  Besides  this,  however,  it  must  not  be 
forsrotten  that  we  have  been  extending  the  meaning 
of  the  four  Greek  virtues  to  senses  which  the  Greeks 
themselves  would  not  have  acknowledged.  3  Bu  such 
an  expansion  of  the  conception  of  duty  is  inevitable  as 

the  world  advances. 

Having  made  this  classification,  however,  we  may 
at  once  add  that  any  attempt  to  draw  out  such  a 
list  like  an  attempt  to  make  a  list  of  the  command- 
ments, is  of  very  slight  importance.  There  is  ess«i- 
tially  but  one  virtue  (what  we  may,  if  we  like  call 
practical  wisdom^),  just  as  there  is  essentially  but  one 
commandment.  The  particular  virtues,  like  the  par- 
ticular commandments,  are  only  special  forms  in  which 

1  The  decisiveness  of  such  a  man  as  Caesar,  for  instance  (c/.  below 
chap  V  §  II.  note),  seems  to  be  a  virtue  which  cannot  be  .dent.fied 
either  with  wisdom,  courage  o«^^^^^^^  ^^^^^^  ^^   ^,,^,,^ 

ilZ'"^^  rre'aU  somel-hat  foreign  to  the  Athenian 

'"'s^'^ht^ was  habitually  done  by  the  early  Christian  moralists  who 
accIptedX  PlaLic  Ossification.   See  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ettucs, 

•""i  n  mk,ht  be  ur»ed  of  course,  that  there  is  a  great  difference  be- 

!l      Wise  care  of  a  man's  own  interests,  in  the  sense  in  which  that 
a  vrtue.      ;recrsely  the  same  quality  as  'hat  which  leads  when 
extended,  to  a  wise  care  of  the  interests  of  others.    The  only  dif- 
ference lies  in  the  extension  of  our  umverse. 


366 


ETHICS.  [BK.  in.,  CH.  IV. 


§7-1 


THE   VIRTUES. 


367 


the  right  attitude  of  mind  manifests  itself.  The  effort 
to  make  a  list  of  these  forms  is  almost  frivolous.  I 
have  thought  it  worth  while  to  say  so  much  as  I  have 
done  on  the  subject,  only  in  order  to  make  it  clear 
what  such  an  effort  would  mean.  Perhaps  the  best 
way  of  regarding  the  virtues  is  to  treat  them  as  those 
forms  of  character  that  are  implied  in  the  fulfilment  of 
the  duties  or  commandments  ;  while  those  duties  or 
commandments,  again,  depend  on  the  elements  in- 
volved in  the  social  unity. 

§  7.  Education  of  Character.— Having  ascertained 
what  "are  the  types  of  character  to  which  we  wish  to 
approximate,  we  have  next  to  inquire  into  the  means 
by  which  these  types  are  to  be  developed.     Here,  how- 
ever it  would  be  necessary  to  trespass  on  the  province 
of  Psychology,  and  especially  on  that  part  of  Psycho- 
logy which  is  concerned  with  the  theory  of  Education. 
This  subject  is  still  in  a  somewhat  undeveloped  state  ;  ■ 
and  there  are  only  one  or  two  remarks  that  seem  to 
have  any  practical  value  for  our  present  purpose.     It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  refer  to  what  every  moralist  has 
noticed,  the  influence  of  example  in  the  development 
of  character.      "As  iron  sharpeneth  steel,  so  a  man 
sharpeneth  the  countenance  of  his  friend."    But  all  the 
forms  of  social  relationship  have  a  similar  value.     Per- 
haps we  may  say  generally  that  the  important  thing, 

1  Reference,  may,  however,  be  made  to  Herbart's  Science  ojEduca. 
tfon  Some  good  points  will  be  found  also  in  Guyaus  EducaUon 
and  HcrcdHy.  FouilWe's  V Ensei&ucmcM  au  Pent  de  Vue  Nat.onal, 
Mrs  Bryant's  £d»a,(,.m,;  Ends.  Rosenkran/.'s  Philosophy  of  Educa- 
«;:;  and  Dr.  Ad.er's  Moral  Instruction  o/.C'""""-  ."""f  .^^^.^'^ 
point  is  that  the  great  work  of  education  is  to  extend  the  circle  of 
thought  "By  a  "circle  of  thought"  he  means  very  nearly  what  has 
been  described  in  this  handbook  as  a  "  universe. 


II 


from  this  point  of  view,    is  the  influence  that  comes 
from  connecting  oneself  with  some  organization  that 
has  a  certain  completeness  in  itself     Schiller  said  that 
a  man  must  either  be  a  whole  in  himself  or  else  join  him- 
self on  to  a  whole.     To  this  Mr.  Bradley  has  added,- 
"You  cannot  be  a  whole,  unless  you  join  a  whole 
Complete  development  of  character  can  be  attamed  only 
by  devoting  ourselves  to  some  large  end,  in  co-operation 
with  others.     Such  an  attachment  comes  to  different 
men  in  different  ways.     Some  find  it  in  the  pursuit  of 
science,  others  in  particular  practical  interests,  others  in 
the  political  life  of  the  State,  others  in  poetry  or  religion. 
It  matters  little  what  the  form  may  be  ;  but  unless  a 
man  has,  in  some  form,  a  broad  human  interest  which 
lifts  him  out  of  himself,  his  life  remains  a  fragment 
and  the   virtues  have  no  soil  to  grow  in.      The  hrst 
requisite,  then,  for  the  development  of  the  virtues,  is 
to  unite  ourselves  with  others  in  the  pursuit  of  some 
end  or  ideal.     In  the  second  place,  we  may  observe 
that  a  certain  amount  of  ascetic  discipline  is  sometimes 
found  valuable.     As  Aristotle  put  it,'  when  a  mans 
character  has  been  twisted  in  one  direction,  it  may  be 
straightened  by  bending  it  in  the  other.     Also,  even 
apart  from  this,  a  certain  check  to  the  gratification  of 
our  natural  propensities  helps  to  waken  up  the  will : 
it  prevents  us  from  living  on  by  rote,  and  thus  serves 

1  Ethical  Studies,  p.  72.   Mr.  Bradley  attributes  the  saying  to  Goethe. 
It  is  one  of  the  Xcnien,  and  was  probably  of  joint  authorship. 

2  Ethics,  II.  ix.  5.  „    ,  T„n.»« 
a  Cf.  James's  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  1.,  p.  126.    Prof.  James 

lavs  down  the  maxim  :  "  Keep  the  faculty  of  effort  ahve  in  you  b  a 
miegrltuitous  exercise  every  day"  He  adds.  ■■  Be  systemat.cally 
a  cetic  or  heroic  in  little  unnecessary  points  ;  do  every  dav  or  txo 
som  toing  for  no  other  reason  than  that  you  would  rather  not  do  .U 


368 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


§8-] 


THE   VIRTUES. 


369 


as  a  stimulus  to  the  development  of  character  ;  so  that, 
like  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra,  we  may 

"  welcome  each  rebuff 
That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  stmg  that  bids  nor  sit  nor  stand  but  go." 

It  is  best,  however,  when  such  a  rebuff  comes  to  us  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  nature.  When  it  is  consciously 
administered,  it  is  apt  to  involve  too  much  attention 
to  our  own  inner  development,  which  almost  always 
leads  to  the  production  of  a  morbid  habit  of  mind.' 
On  the  whole,  it  is  generally  better  to  escape  from  our 
defects,  not  by  thinking  about  them  and  trying  to 
elude  them,  but  by  fixing  our  attention  on  the  opposite 
excellences.  Dr.  Chalmers  used  to  speak  of  "the  ex- 
pulsive power  of  a  new  affection  "  ;  ^  and  it  certainly 
seems  a  more  effectual  method  as  a  rule  to  expel  our 
evil  propensities  by  developing  good  ones  rather  than 
by  seeking  directly  to  crush  the  evil  ones.     At  the  same 

I  venture  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  this.  A  man  who  is  living  with 
serious  ends  in  view  will,  I  think,  always  find  sufficient  occasions 
for  ascetic  discipline — 

"  Room  to  deny  himself,  a  road 
To  bring  him  daily  nearer  God  "  — 

without  artificially  seeking  them  out  (except  perhaps  in  the  way  in- 
dicated by  Aristotle).  See  the  whole  passage  from  James  quoted  in 
Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  129,  note.  Cf.  also  Miss  Gilliland's 
Essav  on  "  Pleasure  and  Pain  in  Education"  in  the  International 
Jonrnal  of  Ethics,  vol.  ii..  No.  3  (April,  1892),  pp.  303-4- 

1  Cf.  below,  p.  chap,  v.,  §  11. 

2  So  also  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  says  in  Robert  Elsmere :  "  This, 
indeed,  is  the  only  way  in  which  opinion  is  ever  really  altered— by 
the  substitution  of  one  mental  picture  for  another " ;  and  again : 
"An  idea  cannot  be  killed  from  without— it  can  only  be  supplanted, 
transformed,  by  another  idea,  and  that,  one  of  equal  virtue  and 
magic."    These  quotations  are  due  to  Mr.  Welton. 


time,  it  must  be  allowed  that  it  is  seldom  possible  to 
develop  the  moral  life,  like  a  flower,  by  a  simple  pro- 
cess of  steady  growth.  Usually  a  certain  amount  of 
attention  to  the  inner  life  is  necessary ;  and  often  a 
man  has  to  pass  through  crises,  such  as  used  to  be 
called,  in  religious  language,  conversion  or  new  birth, 
in  which  the  attention  is  turned  inwards,  and  the  man 
is  occupied,  as  it  were,  in  feeling  his  own  pulse  and 
fingering  the  motives  of  his  conduct.  This  is  an 
attitude  from  which  we  ought  to  escape  as  rapidly 
as  possible  ;  but  it  is  so  characteristic  a  feature  in  the 
development  of  the  moral  life  that  it  seems  worth  while 
to  devote  a  separate  chapter  to  the  consideration  of  it 
— the  more  so,  as  it  will  lead  us  to  a  further  study  of 
what  may  be  called  the  inner  side  of  virtue. ' 

§  8.  The  Moral  Syllogism. — Before  we  conclude  this 
chapter,  it  may  be  convenient  to  take  note  of  a  highly 
significant  conception  of  Aristotle,  which  seems  here 
in  place.  In  the  present  and  the  two  preceding 
chapters  we  have  briefly  indicated  the  various  forms 

1  With  reference  to  moral  education,  it  may  be  noted  here  that  a 
certain  confusion  is  frequently  fallen  into  between  the  culture  of  the 
moral  nature  and  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  about  morals.  The 
former  is  all-important :  the  latter  frequently  leads  to  nothing  more 
than  that  form  of  spiritual  pride  which  is  vulgarly  known  as  "  prig- 
gishness."  In  the  former  sense,  all  real  education  is  moral  education. 
It  is  in  this  sense  that  Herbart  says  {Science  of  Education,  p.  57), 
"  The  one  and  the  whole  work  of  education  may  be  summed  up  in 
the  concept— Morality. '  In  the  latter  sense,  on  the  other  hand,  a  moral 
education  would  generally  be  a  bad  education,  leading  to  nothing 
but  self-conscious  introspection.  Cf  the  important  distinction  be- 
tween "  moral  ideas  "  and  "  ideas  about  morality "  drawn  by  Mr. 
Bosanquet  in  his  article  on  "  The  Communication  of  Moral  Ideas  "  in 
the  International  Journal  of  Ethics  vol.  I.,  No.  i  (Oct.  1890),  p.  86. 
See  also  Miss  Gilliland,  loc.  oil,  pp.  294-5. 

Eth.  24 


r  1' 


' 


'1 


V    i! 


\ 


M 


370 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  IV. 


§8.] 


THE   VIRTUES. 


371 


in  which  the  moral  atmosphere  (if  we  may  so  call  it) 
affects  the  individual  consciousness.  The  moral  ideal 
involved  in  social  life  presents  itself  to  him  in  the  three 
forms  of  institutions  to  be  maintained,  duties  to  be 
fulfilled,  and  a  type  of  life  to  be  realized.  At  different 
stages  of  social  development,  and  in  different  races  of 
mankind,  it  tends  to  present  itself  more  distinctly  in 
one  or  other  of  these  forms.  Thus  the  Jews  thought 
chiefly  of  Commandments,  the  Greeks  chiefly  of 
Virtues,  and  perhaps  the  Romans  attached  most  im- 
portance to  the  maintenance  of  social  institutions. 
But,  in  whatever  form  the  moral  life  is  conceived,  the 
good  citizen  may  be  said  to  derive  from  these  general 
conceptions  of  its  nature  the  principles  by  which  his 
life  is  guided.  It  is  then  his  business  to  apply  these 
principles  in  detail.  This  process  was  described  by 
Aristotle  as  the  formation  of  a  practical  syllogism. 
The  major  premiss  consists  of  the  general  statement, 
that  a  particular  social  institution  is  to  be  maintained, 
that  a  particular  commandment  is  to  be  obeyed,  that 
a  particular  type  of  life  is  to  be  realized.  The  minor 
premiss  consists  in  the  apprehension  that  an  action 
of  a  particular  kind  would  be  one  that  fulfilled  these 
conditions.  Then  the  conclusion  would  consist  in  the 
carrying  out  of  the  action  in  question. 

The  power  of  thus  apprehending  the  general  prin- 
ciple to  be  followed,  and  of  bringing  the  particular 
action  under  it,  was  called  by  Aristotle  practical 
wisdom  (<pp6urj(7ii)  ;  and  the  man  who  possessed  this 
quality  was  called  a  ^povt/iog  (a  wise  or  prudent  man). 
The  excellence  of  the  good  citizen  is  of  this  nature  ; 
and,  having  reached  this  point,  it  may  now  be  con. 
venient  to  give  Aristotle's  complete  definition  of  Virtue 


as  it  appears  in  the  good  citizen.      Most  of  the  points 
in  the  definition  have  already  come  up  in  the  course  of 
our  exposition  ;  and  it   may  be   well   now  to  have  it 
before  us  in  its  entirety.      '  *  Virtue, "  says  Aristotle, '  "  is 
the  habit  of  choosing  the  relative  mean,  as  it  is  deter- 
mined by  reason,  and  as  the  man  of  practical  wisdom 
would  determine  it."     This  is  apt  to  strike  us  at  first 
as  defining  in  a  circle ;  but  if  we  remember  what  is 
meant  by  the  man  of  practical  wisdom — viz.  the  man 
who   has   fully  entered    into  the   spirit  of  his   moral 
environment ;  and   if  we   remember  further   that  the 
spirit  of  his  moral  environment  is  the  product  of  the 
human  ideal — t.  e.  of  reason — as  it  has  so  far  expressed 
itself;    we  may  be  able   to  see   that  it  is  not  really 
defining  in  a  circle,  but  the  expression  of  a  profound 
truth.     It  furnishes  us,  however,  only  with  an  account 
of  the  virtue  of  the  good  citizen  ;  and  though  this  is  an 
important  element  in  the  life  of  the  good  man,  it  is  not 
quite  the  whole  of  it.     Accordingly,  Aristotle  proceeds 
from  the  consideration  of  the  virtue  of  the  <pp6vi!w<$  to 
the   consideration   of  that  of  the   (TO(pb<;  (the  man   of 
speculative  wisdom),  which  he  declares  to  be  higher. 
This  raises  the  general  question  how  far  the  highest 
life  of  the  individual  can  be  regarded  as  something  to 
be  realised  apart  from  the  life  of  the  community,  or  as 
something  that  contains  elements  that  are  not  adequately 
expfessed  in  his  relations  to  the  social  unity  to  which 
he  belongs.     It  is  this  question  that  we  have  now  to 
consider. 

*  Nicomachean  Ethics,  II.,  vi. ,  15.      "Eo-ni'  apa  rj   apcrrj   efi?  TrpoaiperiKiJ,  ^i' 
fJLttroniTi.  ov(Ta  rjj  npo^  ^M^(>  wpia^eVrj  Aoyw  »cai  ws  av  6  <f>p6vifio<;  optaeLev. 


*     ! 


'  ■  '.r 


1/  ■!! 


It 


372 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  ClI.  IV. 


Note  on  the  Classification  of  the  Virtues. 

Students  who  desire  a  more  complete  classification  of  the  Virtues 
than  that  which  has  been  given  in  the  foregoing  chapter  might  find  it 
advantageous  to  study  them  genetically,  i.e.^  to  consider  how  they  grow 
up  and  come  to  be  recognised  in  the  development  of  human  life.    From 
this  point  of  view,  it  would  probably  be  found  that  the  earliest  virtues 
to  be  recognized  are  those  of  Courage  and  Loyalty,  as  being  the  most 
important  for  the  maintenance  of  the  tribe.      Courage  at  first  means 
Valour  in  battle,  but  gradually  comes  to  include  Fortitude,  Hopeful- 
ness, etc.     In  Aristotle's  treatment  of  the  virtue  of  Courage  we  see  the 
beginnings   of  this   prc^cess   of  expansion.     Loyalty,  in   like   manner, 
means  at  first  simple  Fidelity  to  the  tribal  unity,  but  gradually  comes 
to  include  Perseverance   and    Enthusiasm   in  any  work  that  may  be 
undertaken.     As  we  go  beyond  the  tribal  consciousness,  and  pass  to  the 
stage  at  which  there  is  a  more  definite  recognition  of  the  individual 
life,  the  virtues  of  Temperance  and  Prudence  make  their  appearance, 
and  these  also  become  by  degrees  more  and  more  comprehensive.     The 
growth  of  the  individual  consciousness  leads  to  the  establishment  of 
personal  relations  between  individuals  ;  and  with  these  the  virtues  of 
Fairness  (Justice)   and    Friendliness   soon   acquire   importance.      The 
deepening  of  the  individual  consciousness  leads  to  the  recognition  of 
the    virtue  of  Reverence   in    its   various   forms   of    Self- Respect   and 
Respect  for  others.    Finally,  Wisdom  comes  to  be  seen  as  the  Virtue 
that  underlies  all  others.     From  this  point  of  view,  then,  the  Cardinal 
Virtues  would  be  Courage,  Loyalty,  Temperance,  Prudence,  Fairness, 
Friendliness,  Reverence,  and  Wisdom.      But  from  different  points  of 
view  different  results  might  be  reached.      What  is  important  is  not 
to  have  a  classification  of  the  virtues,  but  to  understand  the  general 
significance   of  Virtue  as  the  habit   of  acting  in   a   suitable   way  in 
situations  of  a  particular  kind,  and  then  to  have  a  fairly  complete  yievv 
of  the  kinds  of  situation  that  arise  in  communities  at  different  stages  of 
development.     Such  a  list  of  virtues  as  that  given  by  Aristotle  in  the 
Mcomachean  Ethics  cannot  be  regarded  as  much  more  than  a  collec- 
tion of  specimens  of  some  of  the  most  important  types  to  be  fouiid 
in  his  own  age  and  countr}-.     The  attempt  to  be  exhaustive  on  such 
a   subject  would  be  apt   to   lead  to   a  result  more  voluminous  than 
luminous.     On  the  other  hand,  if  one  tries  to  give  simply  a  general 
classification  of  the  different  directions  in  which  the  moral  life  becomes 


§8.} 


THE   VIRTUES. 


373 


specialised,  such  as  is  generally  understood  by  a  list  of  Cardinal  Virtues, 
it  is  almost  impossible  to  devise  any  principle  of  division  that  is  really 
satisfactory.  In  Plato's  fourfold  list  it  is  pretty  clear  that  \Visdom  is 
on  a  different  fooling  from  the  other  three,  being  rather  the  underlying 
principle  of  all  than  one  of  the  special  applications  of  it ;  while  again 
Temperance  and  Justice  cannot  be  very  clearly  distinguished  from  one 
another.  The  common  division  of  Virtues  into  the  self-regarding  and 
the  other-regarding  is  similarly  unsa)isfactory  ;  and  so  is  Aristotle's 
distinction  of  moral  and  intellectual  virtues.  On  the  whole,  the  genetic 
order  of  study  seems  the  most  satisfactory. 


\ 


% 


y 


hi 


374 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  Vc 


§2.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


375 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  INDIVIDUAL  LIFE. 


§1.  The  Higher  Individualism. — While  it  is  true  that 
the  life  of  the  individual  is  relative  throughout  to  the 
social  unity  to  which  he  belongs,  it  is  none  the  less 
true  that  it  is  in  the  personality  of  individuals  that  the 
social  unity  is  realized.  Consequently,  though  it  is  an 
error  to  think  of  an  individual  as  having  a  life  of  his  own 
independent  of  society,  it  is  not  an  error  to  think  of  the 
individual  life  (realized  within  a  social  unity)  as  an 
absolute  and  supreme  end  in  itself.  Hence  the  efforts 
of  such  a  man  as  Goethe  after  the  highest  culture  of  his 
individual  nature  are  not  to  be  classed  (as  shallow 
critics  have  sometimes  classed  them)  with  the  strivings 
of  egoism.  The  development  of  such  a  personality  is 
at  once  a  good  in  itself  and  a  benefit  to  the  whole  of 
humanity.  Nor  is  this  less  true,  though  the  benefit  is 
smaller,  in  the  case  of  less  comprehensive  and  signifi- 
cant personalities.  What  Mr.  Ruskin  calls  **  the  manu- 
facture of  souls  "  » is  the  greatest  of  all  industries.  This 
is  a  kind  of  work,  however,  in  which  men  are  apt  to  be 
unsuccessful  in  proportion  as  they  consciously  set 
themselves  to  it.  Crescit  occiilto  velut  arbor  oevo,  is  in 
some  measure  true  of  most  great  characters.  Even 
Goethe  seems  to  have  been  somewhat  injured  by  his 

1  Cf.  Walt  Whitman's  question,  "  Do  they  turn  out  men  down  your 
way  ?"  quoted  by  Dr.  Adler  in  h\s  Moral  Ivztnidion  of  Children, 
p.  270 


too  deliberate  self-culture.  "The  unconscious,"  says 
Carlylc,  "  is  alone  complete"  ;  the  reason  being  that  a 
perfect  character  is  one  that  is  objective,  that  loses  itself 
in  the  world  with  which  it  deals,  one  that  knows  much 
and  Icves  much,  not  one  that  is  much  occupied  in  the 
contemplation  of  itself. '  Still,  this  objective  point  of 
view  is  capable  of  being  cultivated,  and  the  cultivation 
of  it  involves  a  certain  amount  of  self-study.  Some 
points  in  connection  with  this  may  now  be  noted. 

§  2.  Conversion. — The  religious  experience  known  as 
conversion  seems  to  be  a  normal  fact  in  our  moral 
development.  Recurring  to  the  mode  of  expression 
which  we  have  so  frequently  made  use  of,  we  may 
say  that  this  phenomenon  occurs  when  a  man  is  made 
aware  of  a  higher  universe  than  that  within  which  he 
is  livine,  and  at  the  same  time  becomes  conscious  that 
that  higher  universe  is  one  within  which  he  ought  to 
live.  Such  an  experience  occurs  in  its  intensest  form 
only  when  the  higher  universe  that  is  presented  to  us 
is  recognized  as  the  highest  of  all — /.  e.  it  occurs  mainly 
in  the  religious  life.  But  even  apart  from  this,  there  is 
frequently  a  crisis  in  the  moral  life,  in  which  we  pass 
from  some  lower  universe  to  a  higher.  The  moment, 
for  instance,  at  which  a  man  decides  to  devote  himself 
to  poetry,  or  art,  or  science,  or  philosophy,  or  the  time 

1  There  is,  in  fact,  what  we  may  call  a  Paradox  of  Duty,  analogous 
to  the  Paradox  of  Pleasure  referred  to  above  (Book  I.,  chap,  ii.,  §  7). 
Just  as,  in  order  to  get  pleasure,  a  man  must  interest  himself  rather  in 
particular  objects  than  in  his  own  personal  feelings  ;  so,  in  order  to 
act  rightly,  a  man  must  interest  himself  in  some  object  that  is  to  be 
accomplished  rather  than  in  his  own  attitude  in  accomplishing  it. 
Even  the  w^ealth  of  our  inner  life  depends  rather  on  the  width  of 
our  objective  interests  than  on  the  intensity  of  our  self-contempla- 
tion. 


f  I 


-.1 


3;6 


ETHICS. 


[bk.  hi.,  CH.  V. 


§3.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


377 


at  which  he  hears  of  the  death  of  a  friend,  or  loses  or 
gains  a  fortune,  or  goes  to  college,  or  falls  in  love,  will 
often  be  such  a  period.      Life  takes  on  a  new  aspect  ; 
and  the  mind  turns  in  criticism  upon  the  life  that  is 
past.      In  the  case  of  the  religious  life,  there  is  often  a 
violent  reaction  against  the  past,   a  condemnation  of 
its  acts  and  even  of  its  ideals,  repentance  and  remorse. 
In  less  extreme  cases  there  is  only  a  certain  shame  for 
the  low  level  of  our   former  existence,    accompanied 
frequently  by  contempt  for  those  who  remain   at  it, 
together  with  a  fixed  determination  to  follow  higher 
things  in  the  future.      At  such  times  a  man  is  intensely 
conscious  of  himself      He  perhaps  keeps  a  diary  to 
record  his  inner  feelings.     He  withdraws  probably  in 
some  degree  from  general  intercourse  with  the  world, 
and  becomes  somewhat  cynical  in  his  estimate  of  it.' 
He  thinks  he  has  discovered  a  new  world  which  no  one 
has  ever  explored  before  him.     It   is   at   such    times 
especially  that  the  inner  life  becomes  prominent. 

^3.  Conscientiousness. — Apart,  however,  from  any 
such  special  periods  as  this,  one  who  is  careful  about 
his  moral  conduct  frequently  finds  himself  called  upon 
to  reflect  upon  his  inner  life,  in  the  way  of  inquiry 
whether  his  conduct  conforms  to  his  highest  ideals. 
Carlyle  has  comn^ended^  times  of  action  in  contrast 
with  times  of  reflection  ;  but  in  the  practical  moral  life 
it  is  impossible  to  keep  the  two  long  asunder.  After 
action  we  must  reflect  upon  our  activities  and  criticise 
them,  with  a  view  to  improving  upon  them  in  the 
future.  Now  in  so  far  as  we  merely  consider  our 
overt  acts,  this  involves  no  entrance   into  the  inner 

1  See  Carlyle's  Sartor Resartiis,  for  instance. 

2  Especially  in  his  Essay  on  "  Characteristics." 


X 


1 


i 


life.  But  a  man  who  is  careful  about  his  conduct  will 
generally  reflect  not  merely  upon  his  actual  conduct, 
but  upon  the  motives  by  which  he  was  led  to  it. '  The 
habit  of  reflecting  upon  them  has  been  called  by  Green 
conscientiousness.  ==  It  is  doubtful  whether  this  is  a 
quite  correct  use  of  that  term.  3  Conscientiousness 
seems  properly  to  mean  simply  extreme  care  with 
regard  to  our  external  conduct.  J^ut,  for  lack  of  a 
better  word,  we  may  employ  the  term  here  in  Green's 
sense.  *'  A  man  may  ask  himself,"  Green  says,  "  Was 
I,  in  doing  so  and  so,  acting  as  a  good  man  should, 
with  a  pure  heart,  with  a  will  set  on  the  objects  on 
which  it  should  be  set .?— or  again,  Shall  I,  in  doing  so 
and  so,  be  acting  as  a  good  man  should,  goodness 
being  understood  in  the  same  sense  }  "  This  question 
is  somewhat  different  from  the  question  whether  one's 
action  has  in  itself  been  right.  It  is  rather  the  question 
whether  I,  in  doing  an  action  in  itself  right, ^  was  occu- 
pying a  right  attitude,  or  whether  I  did  it  from  a  wrong 
motive. 5     If  a   man    is    much  occupied   with  such  a 

1  As  a  rule,  we  do  not  do  this.  Although,  as  already  remarked 
(above,  p.  135), the  moral  judgment  is  passed  on  2i  person  doing,  not 
on  a  thing  done,  yet  the  interest  of  the  agent  is  normally  centred  in 
a  thing  to  be  done,  not  in  himself  as  doing  it.     Cf.  also  p.  355,  note. 

2  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  pp.  269-271,  and  323-327. 
8  See  Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  202, 

*  I.  e.  right  as  an  overt  act.  A  man,  in  acting,  is  primarily  interested 
in  the  question,  whether  he  is  bringing  about  a  desirable  result.  In 
fudging  his  action,  as  we  have  already  remarked  (above,  p.  135),  we 
take  account  of  the  motive  by  which  he  is  led  to  bring  about  this 
result.  But  the  man  himself,  in  acting,  does  not  normally  think  of 
this.     He  simply  sees  the  thing  to  be  done  and  does  it. 

5  I  suspect  that  when  men  inquire  into  their  motives  in  this  way, 
they  are  frequently  using  the  term  "  motive"  in  the  more  inaccurate 
sense  formerly  referred  to  (above,  p.  62).  They  are  thinking  of  the 
feelings  that  accompany  their  actions  rather  than  of  the  ends  that 


li|i' 


378 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


4.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


379 


question  as  this,  it  is  generally  a  sign  either  of  a 
morbid  state  of  mind  or  of  the  fact  that  one  has  not 
found  his  true  vocation  in  life  ;  for  when  a  man  has 
found  his  work  and  is  doing  it,  he  has  little  time  left 
for  such  inquiries. »  Moreover,  if  a  man's  mind  is 
honest  and  clear,  he  can  generally  answer  the  question 
at  once,  without  any  elaborate  investigation.  Conse- 
quently, when  a  man  enters  upon  such  inquiries,  they 
have  seldom  reference  to  any  single  action  that  he 
has  performed,  but  rather  to  his  general   attitude  in 

life. 

§  4.  Self  -  Examination. — Such    self-examination     is 

often  a  direct  result  of  a  new  awakening  to  a  sense  of 

the  moral  imperative  such  as  we  have  already  described 

as  conversion  ;    but   it    may   be    carried   on    by   men 

periodically,  without  any  such  reawakening.      A   man 

may  ask  himself  whether  his  life  is  being  lived  on  that 

level  which  answers  to  his  ideal  of  what  life  should  be. 

In  asking  this,   he  will  generally  mean  partly  to  ask 

whether   his  actions,   viewed    as    external    facts,    are 

exactly  such  as  they  ought  to  be— whether   he   has 

actually  accomplished  what  was  required  of  him  in  the 

given  situation  ;  and  this  is  a   question  with  regard  to 

overt  fact.     But   frequently  he    will  mean   more  than 

induce  them  to  perforin  these  actions.  But  even  in  the  stricter  ac- 
ceptation of  the  term,  the  inquiry  into  the  purity  of  our  motives  is 
not  irrelevant.    See  below,  p.  359,  note  i,  and  p.  368,  note  i. 

1  C/.  Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics,  p.  201.  That  very  wise  man, 
Goethe,  has  a  remark  on  this,  as  on  most  other  things.  Referring 
to  a  boy  who  could  not  console  himself  after  he  had  committed 
a  trifling  fault,  "  I  was  sorry  to  observe  this,"  said  Goethe,  "  for  it 
shows  a  too  tender  conscience,  which  values  so  highly  its  own 
moral  self  that  it  will  excuse  nothing  in  it.  Such  a  conscience  makes 
hypochondriacal  men,  if  it  is  not  balanced  by  great  activity."  {Con- 
versations with  Eckermann.) 


this.  He  will  frequently  wish  to  ascertain  whether  the 
general  principles  of  his  conduct  are  right,  whether  he 
habitually  acts  in  the  best  spirit  as  well  as  in  the  best 
manner — whether,  for  instance,  he  is  perfectly  disin- 
terested in  his  conduct.  No  doubt  such  an  inquiry,  as 
well  as  an  inquiry  into  the  spirit  in  which  particular 
actions  have  been  done,  is  often  an  evidence  of  a 
morbid  habit  of  mind.  A  man's  interests  ought  for  the 
most  part  to  be  concentrated  in  the  objects  which  he 
is  seeking  to  accomplish  rather  than  in  his  own  inner 
state.*  And  even  if  one  wishes  to  view  his  acts  with 
reference  to  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  done,  it  will 
generally  be  best  to  do  this  by  studying  some  ideal 
type  of  the  moral  life,  and  endeavouring  to  follow  in 
his  path,  rather  than  by  a  direct  contemplation  of  one's 
own  impulses  and  motives.  The  latter  course  has 
nearly  always  a  tendency  to  paralyze  action  and  pro- 
mote egoism.  Still,  there  are  times  when  the  study  of 
one's  own  motives  in  particular  actions  is  beneficial, 
and  also  times  at  which  it  is  desirable  to  take  a  survey 

1  It  is  in  such  inquiries  that  we  become  aware  of  what  may  be 
called  the  inner  side  of  the  virtues.  The  qualities  involved  in  this 
inner  side  of  virtue— purity  of  heart  and  the  like— seem  to  be  what 
Prof.  Dewey  understands  by  the  "  Cardinal  Virtues."  See  above,  p. 
341,  note  I.  It  is  probably  true,  as  Green  insists,  that  the  inner  and 
outer  side  of  virtuous  action  are  in  the  long  run  exactly  proportioned 
to  one  another.  "  There  is  no  real  reason  to  doubt,"  says  Green 
{Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  IV.,  chap,  i.,  §  295),  "  that  the  good  or 
evil  in  the  motive  of  an  action  is  exactly  measured  by  the  good  or 
evil  in  its  consequences,  as  rightly  estimated."  But  he  admits  that 
this  correspondence  would  be  fully  apparent  only  to  omniscience. 
For  us,  a  certain  act  may  be  evidently  the  right  one  in  a  given  situa- 
tion {e.  g.  the  killing  of  a  tyrant,  the  passing  of  an  Act  of  Parliament, 
the  relief  of  a  destitute  widow^  etc.),  even  if  we  do  not  know  what 
motive  has  led  to  its  being  done. 

2  Cf.  above,  p.  355,  note. 


U' 


38o 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


of  one's  general  attitude  in  life.  This  is  a  part  of  self- 
knowledge  ;  and  though,  as  Carlyle  says,  the  motto 
Know  thyself  \s>  an  impassible  one  to  carry  out  with 
any  completeness,  yet  it  is  im'portant  to  make  a  cer- 
tain approximation  to  the  carrying  of  it  out.  One 
reason  of  this  is,  that  it  is  not  always  possible  in  our 
actions  to  go  fully  into  the  reasons  of  what  we  do.  We 
often  require  to  let  ourselves  go,  relying  on  the  intui- 
tions that  have  been  acquired  in  the  course  of  our  lives. 
On  such  occasions  it  is  important  that  we  should  know 
how  far  we  can  trust  ourselves  to  go.  For  this  pur- 
pose it  is  necessary  to  have  an  insight  into  the  nature 
of  our  ''besetting  sins,"  and  these  cannot  always  be 
discovered  from  our  overt  acts.  There  are  few,  how- 
ever, who  carry  this  kind  of  self-knowledge  very  far. 
**The  heart  is  deceitful,"  and  even  those  who  observe 
it  most  carefully  are  apt  to  miss  some  secret  chambers. 
The  advice  of  an  intimate  friend  will  often  help  one 
more  than  self-observation  ;  and  even  self-observation 
is  generally  more  successful  in  the  form  of  a  study  of 
our  acts  and  habits  than  in  that  of  a  study  of  our  secret 
motives. 

§  5.  The  Study  of  the  Ideal. — I  have  already  re- 
marked that  it  is  usually  a  more  profitable  way  of 
developing  the  inner  life  rather  to  fix  our  attention  on 
some  external  type  than  to  attend  to  our  own  motives. 
Such  types  have  frequently  been  selected  and  set  up 
for  the  imitation  of  whole  nations  and  peoples — e.  g. 
Buddha,  Jesus,  Socrates,  and  the  various  Roman  Ca- 
tholic saints.  And,  on  a  smaller  scale,  we  have  in- 
numerable biographies  of  heroes  held  up  as  examples 
not  only  of  right  action,  but  of  a  right  attitude  of  mind 
and  heart.     Novelists  also  and  poets  have  created  for 


I 


§6.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


381 


us  imaginary  types  to  serve  the  same  end.  ^  Indeed, 
this  may  be  said  to  be  the  end  of  all  poetry,  in  so  far 
as  poetry  has  an  end  at  all.  It  is  a  "  criticism  of  life," 
inasmuch  as  it  presents  to  us  higher  ideals  of  what 
life  might  be  and  ought  to  be — and  that  chiefly  on  its 
inner  side. - 

§  6.  The  Monastic  Life. — The  importance  of  the 
study  of  the  inner  life,  whether  by  direct  self-exam- 
ination, or  by  the  contemplation  of  ideal  patterns, 
has  at  certain  times  been  so  keenly  felt  that  men  have 
set  themselves  apart,  like  the  Eastern  mystics  or  the 
monastic  orders  of  Catholic  Christianity,  for  the  express 
purpose  of  making  this  their  study.  We  must  regard 
this,  in  general,  as  an  undesirable  form  of  the  Division 
of  Labour.  It  had  a  certain  justification  in  lawless 
times,  when  most  men  were  so  much  occupied  with 
violent  action  that  they  had  no  time  for  reflection.  In 
such  times  men  who  led  a  contemplative  life  had  the 
task  of  actmg  as  the  inner  life  for  the  whole  commu- 
nity to  which  they  belonged.  And  perhaps  in  some 
Oriental  countries  the  nature  of  the  climate  renders  it 
difficult  to  carry  on  the  active  and  the  contemplative 
life  together.  3  The  existence  of  a  monastic  order  has 
in  fact  somewhat  the  same  justification  as  the  setting 
apart  of  a  special  day  for  religious  worship.  But  just 
as,  when  the  Sabbath  is  too  rigidly  divided  from  the 
rest  of  the  week,  it  tends  to  become  a  mere  ceremonial 

1  On  the  moral  and  aesthetic  significance  of  "types,"  the  student 
may  be  referred  to  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics,  pp.  74-76.  Reference 
may  also  be  made  to  Bacon's  De  Augmentis,  Book  VII.,  chap.  iii. 

2C/.  the  famous  passage  in  Goethe's  Wilhelm  Meister,  Book  II., 
chap,  ii.,  ending,  "Who  but  the  poet  was  it  that  first  formed  gods 
for  us  ;  that  exalted  us  to  them,  and  brought  them  down  to  us." 

3  See  Marshall's  Principles  of  Economics,  p.  12. 


Il 


it 


382 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


§8.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


383 


observance,  with  little  reference  to  actual  practice,  so 
when  the  priestly  or  monastic  order  is  too  rigidly 
divided  from  the  rest  of  the  community,  the  inner  life 
comes  to  be  regarded  as  their  special  province,  with 
which  the  rest  of  mankind  have  no  concern.^  This 
has  a  pernicious  effect  on  general  morals,  and  ulti- 
mately on  the  morals  of  the  monastic  order  itself.  No 
order  of  men  can  confine  their  attention  exclusively 
to  the  inner  side  of  life  ;  and  the  pretence  of  doing  so 
turns  rapidly  into  cant  and  hypocrisy.  Just  as  it  is 
desirable  that  secular  interests  should  not  be  entirely 
forgotten  on  Sunday,  nor  the  religious  spirit  throughout 
the  remainder  of  the  week,  so  it  is  desirable  as  a  gen- 
eral rule  that  "all  the  Lord's  people  should  be  pro- 
phets," or  at  any  rate  that  prophets  should  retain 
sufficient  contact  with  the  world  to  enable  men  of  the 
world  to  catch  something  of  the  spirit  of  the  prophets. 
§  7.  Beautiful  Souls.— Apart,  however,  from  the 
existence  of  any  special  order  for  the  cultivation  of 
the  inner  life,   we  occasionally   find  individuals  who 

iCf.  the  amusing:  account,  in  Milton's  Arcopagitica,  §  55,  of  the 
man  whose  religion  has  become  "a  dividual  movable"  :  "A  wealthy 
man  .  .  .  finds  religion  to  be  a  traffic  so  entangled,  and  of  so 
many  piddling  accounts,  that  .  .  .  he  cannot  skill  to  keep  a 
stock  going  upon  that  trade.  .  .  What  does  he  therefore,  but 
resolves  to  ^ive  over  toiling,  and  to  find  himself  out  some  factor,  to 
whose  care  and  credit  he  may  commit  the  whole  managing  of  his 
religious  affaiis  ;  some  divine  of  note  and  estimation  that  must  be. 
To  him  he  adheres,  resigns  the  whole  warehouse  of  his  religion, 
-  with  all  the  locks  and  keys,  into  his  custody  ;  and  indeed  makes 
the  very  person  of  that  man  his  religion.  ...  His  religion  comes 
home  at  night,  prays,  is  liberally  supped,  and  sumptuously  laid  to 
sleep  ;  rises,  is  saluted,  and  after  the  malmsey,  or  some  well-spiced 
bruage  ...  his  religion  walks  abroad  at  eight,  and  leavx^s  h,s 
kind  entertainer  in  the  shop  trading  all  day  without  his  religion. 


set  themselves  apart  for  this  purpose.  It  has  been 
customary  to  describe  these  as  "beautiful  souls" 
(schone  Seelen)  ;  and  Goethe  has  given  a  striking 
account  of  one  in  his  Wilhebn  Meister.^  They  are 
usually  people  who  have  been  prevented  in  some  way 
from  taking  part  in  the  active  affairs  of  life.  The  lives 
of  such  individuals  have  often  a  singular  charm,  and 
the  good  effects  of  their  influence  are  sometimes  felt 
over  a  wide  circle  ;  but  this  is  especially  the  case  when 
they  do  not  entirely  withdraw  themselves  from  contact 
with  active  life.  If  they  do  this,  their  contemplation 
is  apt  to  become  emptied  of  all  real  content ;  their  fine 
feelings  turn  into  hysterical  dreaming  ;  and  it  is  well  if 
they  do  not  end  in  madness. 

§  8.  Asceticism. — The  development  of  the  study  of 
the  inner  life  is  generally  accompanied  by  a  contempt 
for  pleasure.  This  sometimes  goes  so  far,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  Indian  mystics  and  the  Mediaeval  monks, 
as  to  lead  to  the  positive  infliction  of  torture.  The 
ostensible  reason  for  this  is  frequently  the  idea  that 
torture  is  pleasing  to  the  gods ;  but  the  fundamental 
reason  seems  to  lie  in  the  desire  of  suppressing  the 
flesh  and  its  lusts.  This  is  of  course  in  some  degree 
an  essential  of  the  moral  life  in  any  form  ;  but  asceti- 
cism seems  to  commit  the  error  of  turning  the  means 
into  an  end.  It  is  important  to  repress  our  lower 
desires,  in  order  that  we  may  be  able  to  devote  our- 
selves, without  let  or  impediment,  to  the  highest  ends  of 
life.  But  the  ascetic  regards  the  suppression  of  desire 
as  the  end  in  itself.     And  the  effort  thus  to  suppress  all 

1  Carlyle  erroneously  translated  schone  Sccle  "  fair  Saint."  For 
some  very  suggestive  remarks  on  the  attitude  of  the  "beautiful 
soul,"  see  Caird's  Hegel,  pp.  28-31. 


!■■! 


3^4 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


natural  desire  frequently  defeats  its  own  aim.  It  con- 
centrates attention  on  the  objects  of  desire,  and  in  a 
sense  makes  a  man  the  slave  of  his  desires  as  truly  as 
in  the  case  of  him  who  yields  to  them.  The  best  way 
to  free  ourselves  from  our  lower  desires  is,  as  we  have 
already  indicated,'  to  interest  ourselves  in  something 
better.  It  is  only  into  a  mind  swept  and  garnished 
that  the  devils  can  enter  :  when  it  is  well  furnished 
and  occupied  they  can  find  no  room. 

§  9.  The  Contemplative  Life. — The  study  of  the 
inner  life  is,  in  truth,  but  a  part  of  the  general  life  of 
speculation  as  distinguished  from  action.  The  distinc- 
tion between  the  active  and  the  contemplative  life  has 
impressed  men  in  all  ages  ;  and  different  thinkers  have 
attached  importance  to  the  one  or  the  other.  Aristotle 
placed  the  contemplative  life  (meaning  by  that  the 
pursuit  of  scientific  and  philosophic  truth)  above  the 
practical  life  in  which  the  ordinary  social  virtues  are 
exercised.*  It  is  essentially  the  same  point  of  view  3 
that  we  find  among  many  Eastern  mystics  and  Medi- 
aeval saints,  and,  in  more  modern  times,  in  such  men 
as  Wordsworth,  who  withdraw  from  the  struggle  of 
ordinary  labours  and  find  a  higher  life  and  a  serener 
wisdom  in  the  contemplation  of  nature.  Wordsworth 
says  of  nature  that, 

*'  She  has  a  world  of  ready  wealth 
The  mind  and  heart  to  bless, 
Spontaneous  wisdom  breathed  by  health, 
Truth  breathed  by  cheerfulness " ; 

1  See  above,  p.  350. 

2  Ethics,  Book  X.,  chaps,  vii.  and  viii. 

8  Except  (a  very  important  qualification)  that  Aristotle  regarded 
the  active  life  of  social  duty  as  an  indispensable  preparation  for  the 
higher  life  of  thought.    Moreover,  even  the  lifQ  of  thought  he  re- 


§9.] 


THE    INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


3S5 


and  the  same  thought  finds  utterance,  in  more  homely 
fashion,  from  Walt  Whitman,  when  he  says,  *'I  loaf 
and  invite  my  soul."  Ruskin  also  has  sung  the  praises 
of  rest  and  contemplation,  and  William  Morris  has 
found  his  earthly  paradise  in  "  a  century  of  rest,"  in 
which  the  turmoil  of  modern  civilization  shall  have 
been  appeased,  and  men  shall  find  a  more  worthy 
existence  in  a  closer  walk  w^ith  nature.  Similar  ideas 
dominate  Emerson  and  Thoreau.  All  these  seem  to 
think  that  the  contemplative  life  is  essentially  higher 
than  the  active,  and  that  this  higher  life  is  to  be  reached 
simply  by  withdrawing  from  the  life  of  action.  On 
the  other  hand,  Carlyle  preached  a  gospel  of  labour, 
and  was  fond  of  quoting  the  words  of  Sophocles  that 
*'the  end  of  man  is  an  action  and  not  a  thought,"  or 
the  exclamation  of  Arnauld— ''  Rest  !  Shall  I  not  have 
all  eternity  to  rest  in  ? "  This  view  fits  in  well  also 
with  the  robust  philosophy  of  Browning,  who  cannot 
even  accept  the  orthodox  view  of  the  rest  of  eternity, 
but  conceives  of  it  as  the  most  fitting  address  to  his 
departing  spirit — 

" '  Thrive  and  strive '  cry, '  Speed !  Fight  on,  fare  ever,  there 
as  here ! ' " 
The  truth  seems  to  be  that  an  ordinary  healthy  hu- 
man existence  requires  both^ldee?  There  are  energetic 
natures,  like  Caesar  or  Napoleon,  that  seem  able  to 
go  on  with  a  perpetual  activity,  scarcely  requiring 
rest  or  reflection.  But  the  activity  of  such  men  is  not 
usually  the  wisest  or  the  most  beneficial.  There  are 
others  whose  special  mission  it  seems  to  be  to  with- 
draw from  the  world  of  action  and  bring  messages  to 

garded  as  essentially  a  higher  form  of  activity,  to  which  the  life  of 
the  good  citizen  leads  up. 

Eth.  25 


386 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


mankind  from  the  inner  world  of  feeling  and  reflection. 
But  the  wisdom  of  such  men  is  apt  to  be  deficient  in 
the  depth  of  universal  applicability  which  a  wider  con- 
tact with  life  can  give.  The  Wordsworths  and  Emer- 
sons  are  not  equal  to  the  Shakespeares  and  Goethes.  For 
the  majority  of  men,  at  any  rate,  times  of  action  natu- 
rally alternate  with  times  of  reflection,  times  of  creation 
with  times  of  re-creation.  In  retirement  we  criticise 
the  acts  of  life  ;  in  life  we  criticise  the  ideas  of  retire- 
ment. Action  and  reflection  are  the  gymnastic  and 
music  of  moral  culture.' 

§  10.  Relation  of  the  Inner  to  the  Outer  Life. — 
Looking  at  it  in  a  more  speculative  light,  we  may 
express  the  relation  of  the  inner  to  the  outer  life  in 
this  way.  The  life  of  unreflective  action  takes  place 
entirely  within  the  universe  with  which  we  have  iden- 
tified ourselves.  In  the  contemplative  life  we  bring 
ourselves  into  relation  with  the  broader  universe, 
whether  revealed  in  the  form  of  the  moral  ideal  within 
us,  some  ideal  exemplar  without  us,  the  beauty  and 
suggestiveness  of  nature,  the  discovery  of  scientific 
law,  or  in  any  other  shape.     Now,  since  the  life  of  all 

i  Cf.  Goethe's  famous  lines — 

"  Es  bildet  ein  Talent  sich  in  der  Stille, 
Sich  ein  Character  in  dem  Strom  der  Welt" 
("  A  genius  forms  itself  in  solitude  ; 
A  character,  in  struggling  with  the  world.") 

" Music"  and  " Gymnastic"  were  the  names  of  the  two  elements  in 
Greek  education—"  Music,"  of  course,  including  what  used  to  be 
called  "  polite  literature  "  and  a  good  deal  more.  Plato  points  out  in 
his  Republic  (Book  III.)  that  both  these  elements  are  required  for 
the  development  of  character.  See  Nettleship's  admirable  essay 
on  "The  Theory  of  Education  in  Plato's  Republic"  (Hellenica,  pp.^ 
67-180). 


§10.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


387 


of  us  involves  progress,  or,  at  the  very  lowest,  re- 
adjustment to  new  conditions,  it  is  impossible  that  it 
should  be  carried  on  successfully  without  a  periodic 
reference  to  the  principles  on  which  it  is  based.  Like 
chronometers,  we  can  go  on  for  a  time  by  the  mere 
impulse  of  our  moral  springs,  but  if  we  are  to  be  kept 
in  permanent  order  we  must  readjust  ourselves  by  the 
stars.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  a  poor  chro- 
nometer which  was  perpetually  being  set,  and  never 
could  be  let  go.  A  life  of  pure  reflection  would  never 
acquire  any  positive  content.  It  would  have  principles, 
but  no  facts  to  apply  them  to  ;  yet  it  isby  contact  with 
such  facts  that  the  principles  themselves  grow.  It  is 
experience  that  tests  them,  and  that  sends  us  back 
again  to  improve  them.  ''Best  men  are  moulded  out 
of  faults  "  ;  for  it  is  our  errors  of  conduct  that  reveal 
to  us  the  defects  of  our  principles,  and  show  us  where 
they  need  improvement.* 

There  are,  then,  these  two  sides  in  every  healthy 
moral  life.  It  is  a  mistake,  on  the  one  hand,  to  sup- 
pose that  all  the  worth  of  our  life  lies  in  its  outer  acts. 
*  This  is  not  even  the  only  part  of  us  that  affects  those 
with  whom  we  come  in  contact.  ''Men  imagine," 
says  Emerson,  "  that  they  communicate  their  virtue  or 
vice  only  by  overt  actions,  and  do  not  see  that  virtue 
or  vice  emit  a  breath  every  moment."  Of  course,  this 
means  in  reality  that  the  virtuous  man  acts  a  little  dif- 
ferently from  the  vicious  man  even  where  the  external 
act  appears  to  be  the  same.  The  beauty  of  the  inner 
life,  in  Aristotle's  phrase,  "shines  through."  Hence 
the  importance  of  having  the  heart  right.     On  the  other 

1  Hence  the  element  of  truth  in  the  popular  view  about  the 
necessity  of  "  sowing  wild  oats."    See  below,  p.  381. 


I 


388 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


hand,  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  we  should  be 

perpetually  fingering  our  inner  motives.     If  we  do  this, 

we  shall  always  find  that  they  are  somewhat  wrong. 

The  impulse  of  the  moment  can  never  quite  rise  to  the 

dignity  of  the  eternal  ideal ;  and  the  more  we  watch 

it,  the  less  likely  is  it  so  to  rise.     If  we  make  sure  that 

our  overt  action  is  thoroughly  right,  the  right  motive 

will  soon  become  habitual  to  us  ; '  and  it  is  a  man's 

habitual  motives  that  are  important,  not  the  motives 

that  may  happen  to  enter  into  a  particular  act. 

§  11.  The  Virtuous  Man  and  the  World. — If    our 

life  is  to  be  one  both  of  action  and  reflection,  it  must 

also  in  a  sense  be  one  that  is  both  in  the  world  and 

not  of  it.     A  life  of  activity  cannot  be  one  of  entire 

withdrawal  from  the  world  and  its  ways  ;  yet  the  man 

w^ho  guides   himself  by  reflection   will  not  simply  be 

carried  along  by  its  currents.      The  man  who  is  simply 

reflective  and  not  active  is  sometimes  characterized  as 

1  It  might  be  thought,  from  what  has  been  already  said  in  chap,  iii., 
that,  if  we  are  resolutely  setting  ourselves  to  do  good  actions,  the 
motive  of  them  must  necessarily  be  good.  But  this  is  only  partly 
true.  If  a  statesman  devotes  himself  persistently  to  the  passing 
of  beneficial  laws,  this  must  be  because  he  takes  the  benefit  of  his 
country  as  fart  of  his  motive.  But  he  may  also  be  influenced  by  the 
desire  of  personal  fame,  or  even  by  that  of  spiting  a  rival.  A  man 
can  seldom  be  quite  sure  that  some  such  lower  motives  do  not  form 
part  of  his  inducement  to  the  performance  of  an  action  which  he 
clearly  sees  to  be  in  itself  desirable.  But  the  best  practical  course 
is  evidently  that  of  habituating  ourselves  to  the  performance  of 
actions  which  we  perceive  to  be  desirable.  By  doing  this,  we  ac- 
custom ourselves  to  the  point  of  view  of  the  "  universe  "  within  which 
the  actions  are  good.  We  forget  the  lower  universe  of  personal 
ambition,  or  of  personal  spite  ;  and,  by  forgetting  it,  we  gradually 
cease  to  live  in  it.  We  lose  ourselves  in  the  pure  interest  in  our  ob- 
jective end  ;  and  this  is  the  highest  motive—/,  e.  on  the  assumption 
that  our  objective  end  is  really  a  desirable  one,  forming  an  element 
in  human  progress. 


II.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL   LIFE. 


389 


*  *  over-conscientious. "  '  Sometimes  this  reproach  is 
merely  an  indication  of  prejudice  on  the  part  of  "men 
of  the  world "  ;  but  often  it  is  a  mark  of  a  real  want 
of  decision  of  character,  like  that  of  Hamlet,  or  a 
want  of  appreciation  of  the  Hmits  within  which  our 
moral  life  has  to  be  Hved.=*  It  is  a  man  of  this  type 
who  is  sometimes  said  to  be  ''  so  good  that  he  is  good 
for  nothing"  (''si  buon  che  val  niente ").  On  the 
other  hand,  the  commoner  defect  is  that  of  living 
entirely  within  the  universe  of  the  society  in  which 
we  find  ourselves,  and  following  a  multitude  to  do 
evil.  The  good  man  adapts  himself  to  his  environ- 
ment, but  tries  at  the  same  time  to  make  his  environ- 
ment better.  He  does  not  simply  try  to  keep  himself 
"  unspotted  of  the  world,"  but  also  to  clear  the  world 
of  spot.  Such  a  man  will  in  a  sense  be  "not  of  the 
world."  He  will  live  in  the  light  of  principles  which 
are  not  fully  embodied  in  the  modes  of  action  around 
him.  But  he  will  not  withdraw  into  himself,  and 
abstain  from  taking  part  in  the  activities  of  his  world. 
This  attitude  of  the  virtuous  man  is  strikingly  de- 
picted  by  Wordsworth    in  his  sonnet   to  Milton,  ^  in 

1  See  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  p.  323,  and  Dewey's  Outlines 
oj  Ethics,  p.  201. 

2  Froude  says  of  Julius  Caesar  {Ca'sar,  p.  339),  "  His  habit  was  to 
take  facts  as  they  were,  and  when  satisfied  that  his  object  was  just, 
to  go  the  readiest  way  to  it."  A  very  conscientious  man  can  seldom 
bring  himself  to  do  this,  and  hence  lacks  "  force  of  will."  Cf.  above, 
pp.  82-3.  Descartes  was  so  much  afraid  of  the  indecision  due  to  a 
reflective  habit,  that  he  thought  it  necessary  to  make  it  a  special 
practical  rule  for  himself,  never  to  hesitate  when  once  he  had  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  a  particular  line  of  conduct  was  on  the  whole 
the  best.    See  his  Discourse  on  Method,  Part  III.  (Veitch's  translation, 

P-  25). 
«  Cf.  also  Milton's  own  emphatic  declaration  in  the  Areopagitica  .- 


II 


i  t 
t  >  I 


smmtf 


390 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


which  he  expresses  both  his  aloofness  and  his  readi- 
ness to  serve. 

"  Thy  soul  was  like  a  star  and  dwelt  apart ; 

And  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay." 

§  12.  The  Moral  Reformer. — This  twofold  attitude  is 
perhaps  best  seen  in  the  case  of  great  moral  reformers. 
Every  good  man,  no  doubt,  is  a  moral  reformer  on 
a  small  scale ;  but  occasionally  in  the  history  of  a 
nation  there  arises  a  man  who  holds  up  new  ideals  of 
the  moral  life,  and  induces  men  in  some  degree  to 
adopt  them,  thus  advancing  the  general  moral  ideas 
of  mankind.  Types  of  such  reformers  are  Buddha, 
Socrates,  and  Jesus.  These  are  generally  men  who 
have  a  profound  appreciation  of  the  moral  life  of  their 
peoples,  and  who  by  reflection  upon  it  are  led  to 
transcend  its  limitations.  There  was  no  better 
Athenian  citizen  than  Socrates,  none  more  attached 
to  his  native  state,  none  more  ardent  in  the  perform- 
ance of  civic  duties,  few  more  thoroughly  at  home 
in  its  customs  and  traditions.*  But  he  was  more  than 
this.  He  had  his  hours  of  reflective  abstraction,  in 
which  he  went  beneath  the  moral  traditions  of  his 
nation  and  examined  the  fundamental  principles  on 
which  they  rested.  This  reflective  examination  en- 
abled him  to  transcend  the  limitations  of  Greek  mo- 
rality, and  to  prepare  the  way  for  deeper  conceptions 

"  I  cannot  praise  a  fugitive  and  cloistered  virtue,  unexercised  and 
unbreathed,  that  never  sallies  out  and  seeks  her  adversary,  but  slinks 
out  of  the  race,  where  that  immortal  garland  is  to  be  run  for,  not 
without  dust  and  heat."  See  also  Bacon's  De  Augmentis,  Book  VII., 
chap.  i. 
1  See  Zeller's  Socrates  and  the  Socratic  School,  Part  II.,  chap.  v. 


§12.] 


THE   INDIVIDUAL  LIFE. 


391 


of  duty.     Similarly,  Jesus  was  no  ascetic  or  recluse. 
He   ''came   eating   and   drinking,"  and  was  familiar 
with  the  ideas  and  habits  of  his  people,  even  of  those 
that  were  regarded  as  outcast  and  degraded.     But  he 
had  also  his  times  of  retirement,  temptations  in  the 
wilderness,  and  withdrawal  to  mountains.     This  com- 
bination   of  active   participation   and  reflective  with- 
drawal enabled  him  to  sum  up  the    morality  of  his 
nation,  and  by  summing  it  up  to  set  it  upon  a  deeper 
basis,  which  fitted  it  to  become  the  morality  of  the 
modern  civilized  world.     So  it  is  with  most  great  moral 
reformers.     They  hold,   in  a  sense,  the  mirror  up  to 
their   times    and   peoples.     They  show    them    clearly 
what  is  already  stirring  dimly  within   their  own  con- 
sciences.     They  often  seem  to   proclaim    something 
entirelv  new  and  contrary  to  the  whole  spirit  of  the 
age  ;    and   consequently  they  often   become  martyrs 
to  their  convictions,  as  both  Socrates  and  Jesus  did. 
And  no  doubt  they  often  do,  like  Moses,  bring  down 
a  new  law  from  heaven.     But  the  new  law  was  nearly 
always  contained  implicitly  in  the  current  morality  of 
their  time.     They  only  interpreted  that  morality  more 
carefully  and  strictly,  freed  it  from  self-contradictions, 
and  pressed  it  back  to  the  fundamental  principles  on 
which  it  rested. »     When  they  do  more  than  this,  their 
work   is   seldom  entirely  beneficial.      It  is  too  much 
in  the  air,   and  has  too  little  reference  to  the  actual 
condition   of  things,   to  have   much  practical  effect. 
Perhaps   we   may  venture   to    blame  our  own  great 
moral  reformers  of  recent  times,  Carlyle  and  Ruskin, 
and,  still  more,  Tolstoi,  that  they  have  made  too  little 

1  See  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  pp.  323—330.  Muirhead's  Ele- 
ments of  Ethics,  pp.  253-4,  and  Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics,  pp.  189-90. 


392 


ETHICS. 


[bK.  III.,  CH.  V. 


effort  to  understand  what  is  best  in  the  spirit  of  their 
times,  and  that  their  censures,  consequently,  are  too 
much  like  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness, 
an  external  accusation  instead  of  an  internal  criticism. 
But  even  this  would  be  only  partly  true.  Carlyle  and 
Ruskin  are  on  the  whole  no  exception  to  the  general 
^nature  of  moral  reformers.  Mjuch  of  what  is  best  in 
the  spirit  of  the  age  finds  in  them  its  best  expression, 
and  their  criticisms  are  to  a  very  large  extent  organic 
to  the  thing  criticised.  They  are  to  a  certain  extent 
the  criticism  of  the  age  upon  itself,  its  condemnation 
by  its  own  principles,  strictly  interpreted  ;  and  this  is 
perhaps  the  only  kind  of  criticism  that  is  permanently 
beneficial. 


I.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


93 


CHAPTER  VL 


MORAL    PATHOLOGY. 


§  1.  Moral  Evil. — So  far  we  have  been  mainly  occu- 
pied with  the  consideration  of  the  moral  life  in  its  posi- 
tive aspect  as  a  development  towards  goodness  and 
perfection  of  character  and  social  activity.  We  must 
now  dwell  for  a  little  on  its  more  shady  aspects.  Man's 
life  is  not  a  simple  struggle  towards  virtue  and  holi- 
ness :  it  is  quite  as  often  a  lapsing  into  vice  and  sin. 
This  aspect  we  have  on  the  whole  neglected ;  and  we 
must  now  give  a  little  consideration  to  it. 

Each  man's  moral  life  may,  as  we  have  seen,  be 
regarded  as  a  universe  in  itself.  This  universe  may  be 
a  broad  one  or  a  narrow  one.  In  the  case  of  the 
majority  of  men  it  is  sufficiently  narrow  to  exclude 
many  human  interests.  This  narrowness  is  a  source 
of  conflict.  It  causes  the  individual  good  to  appear 
to  be  in  opposition  to  the  general  good  of  humanity. 
There  is  a  sense  in  which  no  one  ever  seeks  anything 
except  what  he  regards  as  good.  Quidquid  petitur 
petitur  sub  specie  honi.  Evil  is  not  sought  as  evil,  but 
as    a    good    under    particular    circumstances.'      But 

1  Many  of  the  acts  that  we  regard  as  vices  were  at  one  time  scarcely 
vices  at  all.  They  are  the  virtues  of  a  lower  stage  of  civilization,  a 
lower  universe  which  has  been  superseded,  but  in  which  some  men 
still  linger.     Thus,  Prof.  Alexander  says  {Moral  Order  and  Progress 


n 


394 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


the  good  sought  is  only  the  good  of  the  universe  con- 
cerned at  the  particular  moment.     This  need  not  even 
be  what  the  individual  himself,  taking   a  survey  of  his 
life,    would  regard   as   good   for   him  :  still    less   is  it 
necessarily  identical  with  or  conformable  to  the  general 
good.     It  may  be  the  good  of  a  very  narrow  universe 
—the  universe  of  a  man  who  is  making  no  serious 
efforts  to  reach  that   rational   point   of  view   in   which 
alone,  as  we  have  seen,  true  freedom  is  to  be  found  ; 
one  who,  remaining  in  servitude  to  his  passions   and 
animal   propensities,    prefers    ''bondage  with  ease  to 
strenuous  liberty."     Indeed,   there  are  even  cases  in 
which  opposition  to  the  general  good  becomes  almost 
an  end  in  itself;  in  which  an  individual  is  inclined  to 
say,  like  Milton's  Satan,    ''Evil,   be  thou  my  good." 
Social  duty  presents  itself  as  a  continual  menace  to  a 
man  who  has  not  learned  to  identify  the  good  of  society 
with  his  own  ;  and  he  is  thus  tempted  to  take  up  arms 

p  307):  "Murder  and  lying  and  theft  are  a  damnosa  hcreditas  Mi 
us  from  a  time  when  they  were  legitimate  institutions  :  when  it  was 
honourable  to  kill  all  but  members  of  the  clan,  or  to  lie  without 
scruple  to  gain  an  end,  and  when  there  was  promiscuity  of  property." 
Cf.  Dewey's  Outlines  of  Ethics,  pp.  215-16.    In  this  connection,  Ben- 
tham  refers  to  a  passage  in  Homer  where  '*  Menelaus,  courteously 
addressing  a  stranger,  seeks  to  learn  his  occupation,  and  asks  him 
what  his  business  may  be,  whether  by  chance  it  is  that  of  a  pirate 
or  what  other."    In  Aristotle's  Politics  (I.,  viii.  7,  8-)  pirates  are  men- 
tioned along  with  fishermen,  hunters,  etc,  as  classes  of  workers  who 
maintain  themselves  without  retail  trade.    In  Sparta,  again,  it  was 
not  thought  dishonourable  to  steal,  though  it  was  thought  dishonour- 
able to  be  found  out.    Cf.Umv\\Q2id's  Elements  of  Ethics,}^.  210.    Per- 
haps some  forms  of  action  which  are  popularly  approved  at  the  pre- 
sent day  will  seem  equally  surprising  in  future  generations     Indeed, 
it  would  seem  that  even  the  pirate  or  filibuster  has  not  ceased  to  be 
honoured  in  certain  quarters   among  ourselves.      And  we  can  hardly 
even  say  lanJatur  et  al^et. 


I 


§!•] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


395 


against  it. '  He  cannot  simply  set  it  aside,  as  he  can 
narrower  goods  that  lie  outside  his  own  :  it  is  a  wider 
circle  that  includes  his  own,  and  he  must  either  identify 
himself  with  it  or  fight  against  it.  This  war  against 
society  seldom  indeed  presents  itself  in  the  extreme 
form  in  which  it  is  depicted  in  Milton's  -S'^/^;^  or  Shake- 
speare's Tu7io7i  of  Athens  ;  but  on  a  smaller  scale  we  see 
it  often  enough  in  the  wilful  mischief  of  children,  or  in 
the  anti-social  delight  that  gives  its  edge  to  scandal. 

But  apart  from  any  such  war  against  the  social  good, 
even  the  best  of  men  show  at  times  "the  defects  of 
their  qualities,"  i.  e.  the  limitations  connected  with  the 
particular  kind  of  universe  in  which  they  live  ;  and  the 
more  definite  that  universe  is,  the  more  marked  are 
likely  to  be  the  defects.  Hence  the  shortcomings 
which  are  often  noticed  in  men  of  strong  and  original 
characters.  A  weak  character  has  no  definite  limits. 
It  flows  vaguely  over  the  boundaries  of  many  universes, 
without  distinctly  occupying  any.  It  excludes  little 
because  it  contains  little.  It  takes  on,  like  a  chame- 
leon, the  colour  of  any  universe  with  which  it  comes 
in  contact.  Such  a  person  is  not  likely  to  offend 
profoundly  against  any  laws  of  his  social  surround- 
ings. He  will  rather  be  *' faultily  faultless,"  drifting 
securely  because  he  is  making  for  nowhere,  carried 
safely  by  wind  and  tide  without  any  force  of  seaman- 
ship. It  is  to  such  that  the  proverb  applies  that 
**  Fortune  favours  fools."     No  one  can  find  any  fault 

1  Cf.  Shakespeare's  King  Richard  III. : — 

"  And  therefore,  since  I  cannot  prove  a  lover, 
To  entertain  these  fair  well-spoken  days, 
I  am  determined  to  prove  a  villain. 
And  hate  the  idle  pleasures  of  these  days." 


30 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


§2.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


397 


with  one   who  has    "no   character  at    all."'     On  the 
other   hand,    one   who    has    great    strength    of   char- 
acter in  some  particuUir  direction  has  generally  some 
accompanying    weakness.      His    universe    is    a  clear- 
cut   circle,    and   excludes   many   elements  of   a   com- 
plete moral  life.     Thus,  the  great  poet,  tenderly  sensi- 
tive and  full  of  high  aspirations,  is  often   deficient  in 
steadiness  of  will  and  in  attention  to  the   more  con- 
ventional rules  of  morals.     The  great  reformer  is  apt 
to  be    inconsiderate    of  the  weakness  of  others,    and 
sometimes  even  unscrupulous   in  selecting  the  means 
to  secure  his  purposes.     The  man  who  is  devoted  to 
great  public  achievements   is  often,  like  Socrates,  un- 
successful in  his  domestic  life.      And  so  in  many  other 
cases.     Hence  in  our  moral  judgments  on   individuals 
it  is  very  necessary  to  consider  not  merely  where  they 
fell  short,  but  also  what  they  positively  achieved  or 
endeavoured.  =^     A  man's  sins   are  the  shadows  of  his 
virtues  ;  and   though    a    life  of  transparent  goodness 
would  cast  no  shadow,  yet,  so  long  as  men   fall  short 
of  this,  the  strongest  virtues  will  often  have  the  deepest 

shades. 

§  2.  Vice.— Moral  defects  may  be  regarded  either 
from  the  inner  or  from  the  outer  side— as  flaws  of 
character  or  as  issuing  in  evil  deeds.     From  the  former 

1 "  Nothing  so  true  as  what  you  once  let  fall, 

Most  women  have  no  characters  at  all."— Pope. 

It  is  perhaps  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  I  do  not  mean  to  ex-  ^ 
press  agreement  with  this  dictum. 

2  C/  Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns  :  "  Granted,  the  ship  comes  mto 
harbour  with  shrouds  and  tackle  damaged  ;  the  pilot  is  blameworthy ; 
he  has  not  been  all-wise  and  all-powerful :  but  to  know  how  blame- 
worthy, tell  us  first  whether  his  voyage  has  been  round  the  Globe, 
or  only' to  Ramsgate  and  the  Isle  of  Do^s." 

t 


point  of  view,  we  may  describe  them  as  vices — vice  ' 
being  the  term  that  corresponds  to  virtue,  and  that 
denotes  the  inner  stain  of  character  rather  than  the 
overt  act.  From  the  outer  side,  we  may  speak  of  them 
rather  as  sins  and  crimes.  The  inner  side  is  more 
extensive  than  the  outer  ;  for  stains  in  the  inner  char- 
acter may  be  to  a  large  extent  concealed,  and  not 
issue  definitely  in  evil  deeds — though  they  can  scarcely 
fail  to  give  a  certain  colour  to  our  outer  acts.  It  is 
chiefly  Christianity  that  has  taught  us  to  attach  as 
much  v/eight  to  the  evil  in  the  heart  as  to  the  evil  in 
outer  deeds.*  The  more  superficial  view  is  to  regard 
the  latter  as  alone  of  importance.  Such  sayings  as 
**  whoever  looketh  on  a  woman  to  lust  after  her,  has 
committed  adultery  with  her  already  in  his  heart," 
gave  a  new  extension  to  the  conception  of  morals. 
Similarly,  the  conception  of  morafity  was  deepened 
when  it  was  recognized  that  an  action  which  is  ex- 
ternally good  may  in  reality  be  evil  if  it  is  not  done 
from  the  highest  motive.  "Whatever  is  not  of  faith 
is  sin."  3     It  was  from  this  point  of  view  that   some  of 

1  From  Latin  vitium,  a  defect  or  blemish.  Sin  appears  to  come 
from  a  root  meaning  a  breach  of  right.  The  corresponding  Greek 
word,  a/iapTia,  mcans  an  error.  Crime  is  from  the  Latin  crimen,  an 
accusation  or  judgment. 

2  The  term  generally  employed  by  Christian  writers,  however,  is 
rather  Sin  than  Vice.  And  thus  Sin,  though  properly  referring  to  an 
outer  act  rather  than  to  a  stain  of  character,  has  acquired  the  sense 

^  of  Vice,  and  indeed  has  come  to  bear  an  even  more  inward  meaning 
than  Vice.  For  Vice  corresponds  to  Virtue,  and  means  a  general 
habit  of  character  issuing  in  particular  bad  acts ;  whereas  Sin,  as 
used  by  Christian  writers,  refers  more  often  to  the  inner  disposition 
of  the  heart,  want  of  purity  in  the  motive,  and  the  like.  It  is  in  this 
sense,  for  instance,  that  St.  Paul  speaks  of  "  sin  dwelling  in  him." 
«  C/.  Sidgwick's  History  oj  Ethics,  pp.  114-115 


398 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


3.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


399 


the  early  Christian  Writers  spoke  of  the  virtues  of  the 
heathen  as  only  ''splendid  vices."  ' 

If  we  were  to  attempt  to  classify  vices,  the  subdivi- 
sions of  them  would  naturally  correspond  to  those  of 
the  virtues.  Thus  we  should  have  vices  arising  from 
our  yielding  to  pleasure,  or  failing  to  endure  pain,  or 
not  being  sufficiently  wise  in  our  choice  or  strenuous 
in  our  purposes.  We  should  also  have  various  vices 
connected  with  imperfections  in  our  social  relation- 
ships.    But  into  the  details  of  such  a  classification  we 

need  not  here  enter. 

§  3.  Sin.— Although  it  is  true,  however,  that  the  inner 
side  of  an  evil  character  is  quite  as  important,  from  a 
moral  point  of  view,  as  the  evil  acts  that  flow  from  it, 
yet  it  must  be  remembered  that  there  is  a  considerable 
difference  between  vice  that  remains  in  the  heart  and 
vice  that  issues  in  an  evil  deed ;  just  as  there  is  a  dif- 
ference between  virtue  that  remains   mere  "good  in- 
tention "  and  virtue  that  issues  in  deed.     Mr.  Muirhead 
remarks  on  this  point  -  :   ''How  far  the  resolution  is 
from  the  completed  act  has  become  a  proverb  in  respect 
to  good  resolutions.     It  is  not,  perhaps,  very  creditable 
to  human  nature  that  a  similar  reflection  with  regard 
to  bad  resolutions  does  not  make  us  more  charitable 
to  persons  who  are  caught  apparently  on  the  way  to  a 
crime.     Hoffding  (Psychology,  Eng.  ed.,  p.  342)  quotes 
a  case  of  a  woman  who,  having  got  into  a  neighbour's 
garden  for  the  purpose  of  setting  fire  to  her  house,  and 
been  taken  almost  in  the  act,  swore  solemnly  in  court 

1  Green,  however,  rightly  insists  that  the  best  Greek  writers  were 
perfectly  aware  of  the  importance  of  the  inner  motive.  See  his 
Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  HL,  chap,  v.,  §  252  ;  and  cf.  below,  p.407 

2  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  50,  note. 


that  she  knew  she  would  not  have  perpetrated  the  act, 
but  hesitated  to  state  upon  oath  that  she  had  abandoned 
her  intention  when  she  was  surprised.      With  this  we 
may  compare  the  passage  in  Mark  Rutherford's  story 
of  Miriains  Schoolmg,   where,   speaking  of  Miriam's 
temptation  to  take  her  own  life,  he  says  :   '  Afterwards 
the  thought  that  she  had  been  close  to  suicide  was  for 
months  a  new  terror  to  her.     She  was  unaware  that 
the   distance   between  us   a7id  dreadful  crimes  is  much 
greater  often  than  it  appears  to  he. ' "  ^    Perhaps  we  should 
say,  then,  not  merely  that   "  Hell  is  paved  with  good 
intentions,"  but  that  Heaven  is  paved  with  bad  ones. 
It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  there  is  an 
important  difference  here  between  good  intentions  and 
bad  intentions.     Bad  intentions,  hke  good  intentions, 
are  often  frustrated  by  infirmity  of  purpose.     In  this 
case  the  good  intention  is  not  so  good  as  the  good  act  ; 
whereas  the  bad  intention  is  on  the  whole  worse  than 
the  bad  act.     We  do  not  think  the  better  of  Macbeth 
for  his  hesitation  in  committing  murder  ;  and  often  we 
feel  almost  an  admiration  for  a  determined  crime.     On 
the  other  hand,  if  a    crime   is    prevented   by  genuine 
moral  scruples,  which  arise  often  just  at  the  moment 
w^hen  we  have  the  opportunity  of  actually  performing 

1  Cf.  Carlyle's  French  Revolution,  vol.  iii.,  Book  I.,  chap.  iv.  : 
*'  From  the  purpose  of  crime  to  the  act  there  is  an  abyss  ;  wonderful 
to  think  of.  The  finger  lies  on  the  pistol ;  but  the  man  is  not  yet  a 
murderer :  nay,  his  whole  nature  staggering  at  such  a  consum- 
mation, is  there  not  a  confused  pause  rather— one  last  instant  of  pos- 
sibility for  him  ?  "  This  distinction  is,  indeed,  generally  recognized 
in  our  ordinary  moral  judgments— though  perhaps  it  is  not  so  much 
dwelt  upon  as  the  corresponding  distinction  in  the  case  of  good 
actions.  Cf  Adam  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  IL,  sect 
HL,  chap.  ii. 


II 


■■■Wil*' 


400  ETHICS.  [BK.  in.,  Cn.  VI. 

the  deed,  the  hesitation  which  then  arises  is  partly  an 
exculpation.  Thus  we  think  on  the  whole  the  better 
of  Lady  Macbeth  for  her  exclamation— 

"  Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  donet." 

While,  then,  it  is  the  case  that  a  good  intention  ^s 
always  inferior  to  the  corresponding  good  deed,'  it 
depends  on  circumstances  whether  a  bad  intention  is 
or  is  not  less  evil  than  a  bad  deed.' 

So  also,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  development 
of  the  character  of  the  agent,  a  bad  deed  is  often  less 
evil  than  a  stain  in  the  character  which   does  not  go 
forth  in  action.     An  overt  act  brings,  as  a  rule,  an  overt 
punishment.    At  any  rate,  the  wickedness  of  the  act  .s 
made  openly  apparent,   in   a  way  in  which  an  evil 
thought  is  not  made  apparent.     And  when  a  man  thus 
sees  plainly  the  consequences  of  his  action,  he  is  often 
led  to  repent  of  it  and  amend  his  life.     It  is  here  that 
we  see  the  element  of  truth  in  the  common  idea  of  the 
1  Even  this,  no  doubt,  is  subject  to  some  qualification.    A  compar- 
ativelv  unscrupulous  man  may  often  perform  an  action  on  the  whole 
go^  where  a  more  conscientious  man  would  hesitate.    In  such  a 
Sse  we  should  not  always  regard  the  conscientious  man  as  blame- 
worthy     Still,  even  here,  the  good  intention  of  the  conscientious 
man  is  not  so  good  as  his  good  action  would  have  been,  if  only  he 
"1  h"!  bro'ught  himseU  to  do  it-though  it  maybe  as  praise- 
worthy  as  the  good  action  of  a  man  who  is  more  unscrupulous. 

°  Of  course  evil  thoughts  may  also  pass  through  a  "lans  n^nd 
without  getting  the  length  even  of  intentions.    '"  'his  case  they 
are  not  morally  culpable.    C/.  Milton's  Parad.se  Lost.  Book  V.- 
"  Evil  into  the  mind  of  God  or  man 
May  come  and  go,  so  unapproved,  and  leave 
No  spot  or  blame  behind." 
Even  such  evil,  however,  may  be  taken  as  evidence  of  the  existence 


4.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


401 


benefit  of  ** sowing  wild  oats."  Here  also  we  see  the 
force  of  Luther's  Pecca  foriiter.  ^  If  there  is  evil  in  a 
man's  heart  it  is  generally  best  that  it  should  come  out 
plainly.  There  is  more  hope  of  a  straightforward  sin- 
ner than  of  one  who  is  neither  cold  nor  hot.^ 

§  4.  Crime. — The  term  Crime  is  generally  used  in  a 
narrower  sense  than  sin.  It  denotes  only  those  offences 
against  society  which  are  recognized  by  national  law, 
and  which  are  liable  to  punishment.  It  is  impossible 
that  all  moral  offences  should  be  brought  under  this 
category.  Ingratitude,  for  instance,  cannot  be  made 
punishable  by  law,  because  it  would  be  practically 
impossible  to  specify  the  offences  that  come  under  this 
head.  Again,  the  moral  sense  of  conscientious  persons 
is  constantly  outrunning  the  ordinary  moral  code  of 
the  society  to  which  they  belong,  and  thus  inventing 

of  some  lower  universe  within  a  man's  nature — some  extinct  vol- 
cano, as  it  were — which  may  at  some  time  or  other  burst  forth  into 
action.  Milton,  I  suppose,  would  scarcely  have  admitted  this — at 
least  with  regard  to  God. 

1  C/.  Browning's  The  Statue  and  the  Bust — 

*•  The  sin  I  impute  to  each  frustrate  ghost 
Is,  the  unlit  lamp  and  the  ungirt  loin. 
Though  the  end  in  view  was  a  vice,  I  say." 

See  Jones's  Browning  as  a  Philosophical  and  Religious  Teacher,  pp. 
Ill— 118. 

2  Similarly,  in  the  life  of  a  state,  it  is  often  desirable  that  an  evil 
should  be  brought  to  a  head.  For  this  reason,  it  has  often  been  ob- 
served that  it  is  generally  better  to  have  a  thoroughly  bad  despot 
than  a  half  good  one.  Thus  Hallam  remarks  {Constitutional  History 
of  England),  "We  2ire  much  indebted  to  the  memory  of  Barbara, 
Duchess  of  Cleveland,  Louisa,  Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  and  Mrs. 
Eleanor  Gwyn.  .  .  .  They  played  a  serviceable  part  in  ridding 
the  kingdom  of  its  besotted  loyalty."  Cf.  Buckle's  History  of  Civil- 
ization, vol.  i.,  p.  338,  w^here  this  passage  is  more  fully  given. 

Eth.  26 


^02  ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VI 

Sins  which  are  not  recognized  as  crimes.  Also  when 
the  evil  effects  of  a  sin  fall  mainly  on  the  perpetrator 
of  it,   it  is   generally  thought  unnecessary  to  have  a 

special  law  against  it. 

&  5.  Punishment.— Sin    always    brings    evil    conse- 
quences with  it,  and  these  evil  consequences  always 
react  in  some  way  upon  the  perpetrator.     It  was  one 
of  the  paradoxes  of  the  Socratic   teachmg  that  it  is 
worse  for  a  man  to  do  wrong  than  to  suffer  wrong.     In 
a  sense  this  is  true.     The  consequences  of  suffering 
wrong  are  external.     They  do  not  hurt  the  soul ;  where- 
as  when  a  man  does  wrong,  he  lowers  himself  in  the 
scale  of  being,  and  thus  wrongs  himself  worse   than 
any  one  else  could  wrong  him.     Still,  the  evil  effects 
of  a  man's  wrongdoing  upon  himself  are  not  always 
apparent  either  to  himself  or  to  others.     He  often  seems 
to  have  got  off  scot-free.     Now  this  is  contrary  to  our 
natural  sense   of  justice.     We  naturally  think  that  a 
man  should  be  rewarded  according  to  his  deeds.     And 
this  idea  seems  to  have  a  rational  justification.     The 
virtuous  man  is  fighting  on  the  side  of  human  progress 
and  we  feel  it  natural  to  expect  that  the  gods  will  fight 
with  him,  and  that  his  labours   will  prosper.     The  vi- 
cious man,  on  the  other  hand,  is  fighting  against  the 
jrods,  against  our  ideals  of  right  ;  and  it  seems  unnatura 
and  unreasonable  that  his  course  should  prosper.      If 
for  a  time  the  virtuous  man  is  unsuccessful,  we  yet  feel 
bound  to  believe  that  his  ultimate  reward  cannot  "be 
dust "  «     His  cause  at  least    must  prosper,  unless  the 
world  is  founded  on  injustice  ;  and  it  is  natural  to  ex- 
pect and  hope  that  he  will  prosper  along  with  it.     On 

1  See  the  concluding  paragraphs  in  Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics. 


50 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


403 


the  other  hand,  if  the  wicked  for  a  time  seems  to 
flourish,  we  cannot  help  believing  that  his  triumph  is 
ephemeral,  that  in  the  long  run  the  wages  of  sin  must 
be  death.  It  is  here  that  the  natural  feelings  of  grati- 
tude and  revenge  find  their  rational  basis.  Of  course, 
we  are  not  here  maintaining  that  these  feelings  derive 
their  origin  from  any  such  rational  consideration.  The 
psychological  question  of  the  development  of  these 
feelings  is  not  now  under  consideration.'  But  these 
feelings  could  scarcely  maintain  their  ground  in  the 
developed  consciousness  of  mankind  unless  they  had 
support  in  reason  ;  and  it  is  this  rational  support  that 
we  have  now  to  take  notice  of. 

Now  it  is  out  of  these  natural  feelings  that  reward 
and  punishment  take  their  origin.  In  the  case  of 
revenge,  indeed,  and  to  some  extent  even  in  the  case 
of  gratitude,  there  is  a  certain  tendency  for  the  feeling 
to  grow  weaker  as  the  race  develops,  so  far  as  merely 
personal  relationships  are  concerned.  The  primeval 
man  resents  keenly  every  wrong  done  to  himself  or  to 
those  who  are  intimately  connected  with  himself,  and 
seeks  to  return  it  at  the  earliest  opportunity  upon  the 
head  of  the  perpetrator.  As  the  moral  consciousness 
develops,  this  feeling  of  personal  resentment  becomes 
less  keen.  Men  begin  to  learn  that  their  merely  per- 
sonal wrongs  are  not  of  infinite  importance  ;  and  under 
certain  circumstances  forgiveness  becomes  possible. 
They  see  that  a  wrongdoer  to  them  is  not  necessarily 
a  wrongdoer  to  humanity  ;   and  it  is  only  this  last  that 

1  On  this  point,  see  Mill's  Utilitarianism,  chap.  v.  See  also  Adam 
Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,  Part  II.,  sect.  II.,  chap,  iii., 
where  the  distinction  between  an  inquiry  into  the  origin  of  revenge 
and  an  inquiry  into  its  rational  basis  is  clearly  drawn. 


1:1 


<li 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 

404 

is  of  moment.  As  regards  society,  however,  there  is 
not  anything  like  the  same  weakenmg  of  the  sense  o 
injury.'  A  wrong  against  social  law  is  a  wrong  against 
humlnity.  and  cannot  be  forgiven  untd  the  offended 
majesty  of  the  law  has  been  appeased,  «.  e  unti  the 
wringLs  and  essential  nullity  of  the  -tl. as  been 
made   apparent.     It   is   here   that  the  justification  ot 

punishment  is  to  be  found.  _ 

8  6    Theories  of  Punishment. -Three  principal  the- 
ories of  the  aims  of  punishment  have  been  put  forward. 
These  are  generally  known  as  the  preventive  (orde  er- 
rent)    the  educative  (or  reformative),  and  the  retribu- 
tive  theories.       According  to  the  first  view,  the  aim 
of  punishment  is  to  deter  others  from  committing  simi- 
lar offences.     It  is  expressed  in  the  familiar  rf»  of 
the  judge-"  You  are  not  punished  for  stealing  sheep 
but  in  order  that  sheep   may  not  be  stolen.       I    this 
were  the  sole  object  of  punishment,  it  seems  probable 
that,  with  the  development  of  the  moral  consciousness, 
it  would  speedily  be  abolished  :  for  it  could  scarcely  be 
regarded  as  just  to  inflict  pain  on  one  man  mere/y  for 
the  benefit  of  others.     It  would  involve  treating  a  man 
as  a  ihiug,  as  a  mere  means,  not  an  end  in  himself 
The  second  view  is  that  the  aim   of  punishment  is  to 
educate  or  reform  the  offender  himself.     This  appears 
to  be  the  view   that   is  most  commonly  taken  at  the 
present  time  ;  ■  because   it  is  the  one  which  seems  to 
fit   in  best  with  the  humanitarian  sentiments  of  the 
aee     It  is  evident  that  this  theory   could  hardly  be 
used  to  justify  the  penalty  of  death  ;  and  many  other 

1  Though  perhaps  it  is  most  often  held  in  conjunction  with  the 
preceding  view  (the  deterrent). 


mm 


§6.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


40s 


forms  of  punishment  also  would  have  to  be  regarded 
from  this  point  of  view  as  ineffective.  Indeed  it  is 
probable  that  in  many  instances  kind  treatment  would 
have  a  better  effect  than  punishment.  The  third  view 
is  that  the  aim  of  punishment  is  to  allow  a  man's  deed 
to  return  on  his  own  head,  /.  e.  to  make  it  apparent 
that  the  evil  consequences  of  his  act  are  not  merely 
evils  to  others,  but  evils  in  which  he  is  himself  in- 
volved. »  This  is  the  view  of  punishment  which  ap- 
pears to  accord  best  with  the  origin  of  punishment 
among  early  peoples  :  but  in  later  times,  especially 
in  Christian  countries,  there  has  been  a  tendency 
to  reject  it  in  favour  of  one  or  other  of  the  two  pre- 
ceding theories,  because  it  seems  to  rest  on  the 
unchristian  passion  of  revenge.  In  this  objection, 
however,  there  seems  to  be  a  misunderstanding  in- 
volved. Revenge  is  condemned  by  Christianity  on 
account  of  the  feeling  of  personal  malevolence  which 
is  involved  in  it.  But  retribution  inflicted  by  a  court 
of  justice  need  not  involve  any  such  feeling.  Such  a 
court  simply  accords  to  a  man  what  he  has  earned. 
He  has  done  evil,  and  it  is  reasonable  that  the  evil 
should  return  upon  himself  as  the  wages  of  his  sin — 
the  negative  value  which  he  has  produced.  Indeed 
there  would  in  a  sense  be  an  inner  self-contradiction 
in  any  society  which  abstained  from  inflicting  pun- 
ishment upon  the  guilty.  Suppose  a  society  had  a 
law  against  stealing  and  yet  allowed  a  thief  who 
was  unable  to  make   restitution    to   escape  scot-free. 

1  For  an  emphatic  statement  of  this  view,  see  Carlyle's  Latter- 
Day  Pzmphlets,  No.  2.  See  also  Adam  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral 
Sentiment,  Part  II.,  sect.  I., chap,  iv.^note,  Bradley's  Ethical  Studies, 
Essay  I.,  and  Duhrin g's  Cursus  der  Philosophic,  sect.  IV.,  chap.  ii. 


4o6 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


!« 


The    laws   of  such    a   society  would   be   little    more 
than  injunctions   or  recommendations  to  its  citizens. 
They   would   not   have  the  force   of   imperatives,    or 
at  least   they   would   be   imperatives  which  are   liable 
to  exceptions.     Absolute  imperatives  must  either  be 
able  to   prevent   any  violation    of    their    commands, 
or   else    must   in    some    way    vindicate    their    author- 
ity when   they  are  violated.^     This  seems  to  be   the 
primary   aim  of  punishment.    It  should  be  observed 
however,  that  this  aim  in  a  sense  includes  the  other 
two.     If  the  aim   of  punishment  is  to  vindicate  the 
authority  of  the  law,  this  will  be  partly  done  in  so  far 
as  the  offender  is  reformed,  and  in  so  far  as  similar  acts 
are   prevented.     And  indeed  neither  reformation  nor 
prevention  is  likely  to  be  effected  by  punishment  uiiless 
it  is  recognised  that  the  punishment  is  a  vindication  of  the 
law—i  e.    a   revelation    of  the   fact  that  the  law  holds 
good  although  it  has   been  broken,    that,   in  a  sense, 
the  breaking  of  it   is  a  nullity.     It   is  only  when  an 
offender  sees  the  punishment  of  his  crime  to  be  the 
natural  or  logical  outcome  of  his  act  that  he  is  likely 
to  be  led  to  any  real  repentance  ;  and  it  is  only  this 
recognition  also  that  is  likely  to  lead  others  to  any  real 
abhorrence  of  crime,  as  distinct  from  fear  of  its    con- 
sequences.     We  may   regard   the  retributive  theory, 
then,  when  thus  understood,  as  the  most  satisfactory 
of  all  the  theories  of  punishment.^ 

1  Cf.  above,  p.  167,  note  2.  ,  .         *  u    1  a 

2  A  complete  discussion  of  the  theory  of  Punishment  must  be  left 
to  writers  on  the  Philosophy  of  Law.  I  have  here  noticed  only  those 
points  that  seemed  most  important.  The  most  original  and  sug- 
gestive  treatment  of  the  whole  subject  is  that  contained  m  Hegel  s 
Philosophy  of  Right,  §§  c;6-i03.  Besides  the  theories  above  re- 
ferred to,  there  are  other  possible  views  of  Punishment,     horin- 


7.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


407 


§  7.  Responsibility. — In  considering  the  subject  of 
punishment,  it  is  necessary  to  ascertain  to  what  extent 
a  man  is  to  be  regarded  as  responsible  for  his  actions. 
The  plea  of  insanity  is  always  held  to  exempt  a  man 
from  punishment ;  but  some  thinkers  go  much  further 
than  this.  Some  hold,  in  fact,  that  all  crime  ought 
to  be  regarded  as  an  evidence  of  insanity,  and  conse- 
quently that  no  one  is  to  be  regarded  as  responsible 
for  his  evil  deeds.  Instead  of  punishing  men  for  their 
crimes,  therefore,  we  ought  rather  to  try  to  cure  them 
of  their  distempers.*  This  view,  of  course,  rests  on  the 
purely  determinist  conception  of  human  conduct.  It 
regards  a  man's  acts  not  as  the  outcome  of  himself  but 
of  his  circumstances.  If  the  view  of  freedom  which 
we  have  already  taken  is  correct,  this  idea  is  false.  A 
man's  acts,  when  he  is  fully  aware  of  what  he  is  doing, 
are  the  expression  of  his  own  character ;  and  it  is  im- 
possible to  go  behind  this  character  and  fix  the  blame 
of  it  on  some  one  else.^*  The  case  of  insanity  is  dif- 
ferent. Here  the  man  is  alienated  from  himself,  and 
his  acts  are  not  his  own.     Of  course,  we  must  recog- 


stance,  there  is  the  view  that  a  main  object  of  Punishment  is  to  get 
rid  of  the  offender,  so  as  to  prevent  him  from  working  further  mis- 
chief. This  is  a  preventive  theory  in  a  somewhat  different  sense 
fi^om  that  already  referred  to  under  that  name.  But  this  view  would 
evidently  apply  only  to  some  forms  of  Punishment.  For  an  interest- 
ing treatment  of  the  whole  subject,  the  student  may  be  referred  to 
Green's  Collected  Works,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  486—511.  Discussions  on  this 
subject  will  also  be  found  in  Stephen's  Social  Rights  and  Duties 
and  in  the  International  Journal  of  Ethics,  Vol.  II,,  No.  I,  pp.  20-31 
and  51—76,  and  No.  2,  pp.  232-239  ;  also  Vol.  IV.,  No.  3,  pp.  269-284, 
Vol.  v.,  No.  2.  pp.  241-243,  Vol.  VI.,  No.  4,  pp.  479-502,  and  Vol.  VII., 
No.  I,  pp.  95-6. 

1  This  is  amusingly  illustrated  in  S.  Butler's  Erewhon, 

2  Cf.  above,  Book  I,  chap,  iii,  especially  the  Note  at  the  end. 


I. 


4o8 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


nize  in  the  sane  man  also  a  certain  part  of  conduct  for 
which  he  is  not  entirely  responsible.  Ignorance  ex- 
cuses much,  unless  the  ignorance  is  itself  culpable. 
Any  condition  in  which  a  man  is  not  fully  master  of 
himself  removes  his  responsibility,  except  when — as  in 
drunkenness — he  can  be  blamed  for  the  condition  in 
which  he  is.  When  an  act  is  done  impulsively,  also, 
a  man  has  not  the  same  full  responsibility  as  he  has  for 
a  deliberate  action  ;  except  in  so  far  as  he  is  to  be 
blamed  for  having  habitually  lived  in  a  universe  in 
which  impulsive  acts  are  possible.  * 

§  8.  Remorse. — When  an  evil  deed  has  been  done, 
and  when  the  wickedness  of  it  has  been  brought  home 
to  the  actor,  it  is  accompanied  by  what  is  known  as 
the  pain  of  conscience.  This  pain  arises  from  the 
sense  of  discord  between  our  deeds  and  our  ideals. 
It  is  proportioned,  therefore,  not  to  the  enormity  of 
our  sins,  but  to  the  degree  of  discrepancy  between 
these  and  our  moral  aspirations.  In  the  ''hardened 
sinner"  it  is  scarcely  felt  at  all,  because  he  has  habitu- 
ated himself  to  live  within  a  universe  with  whose 
ideals  his  acts  are  in  perfect  harmony.  It  is  only  in 
the  rare  moments  in  which  he  becomes  aware  of  the 
larger  universe  beyond,  that  he  is  made  conscious  of 
any  pang.  On  the  other  hand,  in  a  sensitive  moral 
nature,  habituated  to  the  higher  universe  of  moral 
purpose,  an  evil  deed  is  not  merely  accompanied  by  a 
pang  of  conscience,  but,  if  it  is  an  evil  of  any  con- 
siderable magnitude,  by  a  recurrent  and  persistent 
sense  of  having  fallen  from  one's  proper  level.  This 
persistent  feeling  of  degradation  is  known  as  remorse. 
In  its  deepest  form,  it  is  not  merely  a  grief  for  parti- 

1  On  this  whole  subject,  see  Aristotle's  Ethics,  Book  III.,  chap.  v. 


IJ 


§9.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


409 


cular  acts  but  a  sense  of  degradation  in  one's  whole 
moral  character— a  sense  that  one  has  offended  against 
the  highest  law,  and  that  one's  whole  nature  is  in 
need  of  regeneration.  The  best  expression  of  this  in 
all  literature,  is,  I  suppose,  that  contained  in  the  51st 
Psalm:  "Against  thee,  thee  only,  have  I  sinned,  and 
done  this  evil  in  thy  sight.  .  .  .  Behold,  I  was  shapen 
in  iniquity,  and  in  sin  did   my  mother  conceive  me," 

etc. 

§  9.  Reformation.— The  natural  effect  of  remorse  '  is 
to  lead  to  a  reformation  of  character.  This  effect  may 
be  prevented  by  '*  stifling  the  conscience,"  t.  e.  by  per- 
sistently withdrawing  our  attention  from  the  higher 
moral  universe  and  endeavouring  to  habituate  our- 
selves to  a  life  in  a  lower  one.  This  endeavour  may 
easily  be  successful.  There  is  nothing  inevitable 
about  the  higher  point  of  view.  Facilis  descensus 
Averni.  But  if  we  do  not  thus  abstract  our  attention 
from  the  voice  of  conscience,  the  natural  result  is  that 
we  make  an  effort  to  regain  the  level  from  which  we 
have  fallen,  to  bring  our  own  actions  once  more  into 
accordance  with  the  ideals  of  which  we  are  aware. 
This  rise  often  requires  a  certain  renewal  of  our  whole 
nature.  It  requires  a  process  of  conversion  like  that 
to  which  we  have  already  referred.  Such  a  process  is 
brought  out  in  the  Psalm  which  we  have  already  quoted. 

1  Some  writers  limit  the  application  of  the  term  "  remorse  "  to  those 
cases  in  which  it  does  not  lead  to  repentance.  Sometimes  the  sense 
of  aberration  from  the  right  path  is  so  strong,  that  a  return  to  it 
seems  impossible,  and  the  mind  sinks  into  absolute  despair.  But 
there  seems  to  be  no  sufficient  reason  for  confining  the  term  to  such 
cases  as  these.  It  applies  properiy  to  any  case  in  which  there  is  a 
gnawing  pain  of  Conscience.  The  word  is  derived  from  the  Latin 
remordeo  meaning  "  to  bite  again  and  again." 


il 


4IO 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


*'  Purge  me  with  hyssop,  and  I  shall  be  clean.  .  .  . 
Create  in  me  a  clean  heart."  What  is  here  figuratively 
referred  to  is  the  process  of  habituating  ourselves  to  a 
higher  universe,  involving  a  transformation  of  our 
whole  nature.  When  such  a  transformation  is  effected, 
it  becomes  almost  impossible  to  act  upon  the  lower 
level.  Our  habits  of  action  become  adjusted  to  the 
ideal  within  us,  and  go  on  almost  without  an  effort. 
The  will  becomes  to  some  extent  ''  holy."  Indeed 
some  religious  enthusiasts  have  even  thought  that 
such  a  process  of  *'  sanctification  "  may  go  so  far  as  to 
make  sin  an  impossibility.*  But  this  is  an  exaggera- 
tion ;  ''for  virtue,"  as  Hamlet  says,  **  cannot  so  in- 
oculate our  old  stock  but  we  shall  relish  of  it."  What 
actually  is  possible  is  that  we  should  definitely  identify 
our  wills  with  the  highest  point  of  view,  and  habituate 
ourselves  by  degrees  to  action  that  is  in  accordance 
with  this.  In  this  way  we  may  asymptotically  ap- 
proximate to  a  state  of  perfect  holiness  of  will. 

§  10.  Forgiveness. — The  place  of  punishment  has 
been  indicated  as  the  recoil  of  guilt  upon  the  offender, 
thereby  asserting  the  majesty  of  law,  and  leading  on, 
through  this,  to  repentance  and  reformation.  In  this 
way  ''the  wheel  comes  full  circle":  the  crime  is 
wiped  out — i.  e.  its  essential  nullity  is  exhibited — 
within  the  universe  occupied  by  the  criminal.  It 
is  possible,  however,  that  this  revolution  may  be 
effected  without  the  intervention  of  punishment.  The 
guilt  may  be  brought  home  to  the  mind,  not  by  the 
working  of  it  out  within  the  universe  in  which  it  has 

1  C/.  First  Epistle  of  John,  chap,  iii.,  9.:  "Whosoever  is  born  of 
God  doth  not  commit  sin  ;  for  his  seed  remaineth  in  him  ;  and  he 
cannot  sin,  because  he  is  born  of  God." 


II.] 


MORAL   PATHOLOGY. 


411 


arisen,  but  by  rising  to  a  higher  universe.  Education, 
for  instance,  may  bring  about  this  result.  Modern 
humanitarian  sentiment  leads  us,  as  far  as  possible,  to 
seek  to  deal  with  criminals — especially  young  criminals 

in   this   way,   rather   than    by  way  of  punishment. 

Where  this  is  possible,  the  offence  can  be  forgiven,  be- 
cause it  no  longer  exists  at  the  higher  point  of  view. 
It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  to  say  this  is 
not  to  deny  the  validity  of  the  preceding  account  of 
punishment.* 

§  11.  Social  Corruption. — So  far  we  have  been  look- 
ing at  moral  evil  only  as  it  appears  in  the  individual 
life.  But  a  society,  as  well  as  an  individual,  may  have 
moral  excellence  or  defect.  It  may  have  its  customs 
and  its  institutions  so  framed  as  to  give  encourage- 
ment to  its  citizens  at  every  turn  to  live  at  the  highest 
human  level ;  or  it  may  have  them  so  devised  as  to 
obstruct  the  moral  life  and  make  virtue,  in  certain 
aspects,  almost  an  impossibility.  ^^  Civilization  ought 
to  mean  the  arrangement  of  social  conditions  so  as  to 
make  virtue  as  easy  and  vice  as  difficult  as  possible. 
But  civilization,  as  it  actually  exists,  is  partly  a  product 
of  the  vices  as  well  as  of  the  virtues  of  mankind  ;  and 
is  adapted  to  the  former  as  well  as  to  the  latter.  It  is 
not  arranged  for  the  extinction  of  vice,  but  at  most,  in 
Burke's  language,  that  vice  may  "  lose  half  its  evil  by 
losing  all  its  grossness."  It  is  arranged  not  for  the 
promotion  of  virtue  but  only  of  respectability.     Heroic 

1  Some  highly  suggestive  remarks  on  the  relation  between  Pun- 
ishment and  Forgiveness  will  be  found  in  Caird's  Hcgcl,  pp.  28-30. 

2  Mr.  Muirhead  enumerates,  as  illustrations  of  such  institutions 
{Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  174).  "  brothels,  gambling  dens,  cribs,  and 
cramming  establishments." 


,-<i. 


412 


ETHICS. 


[BK.  III.,  CH.  VI. 


§1.] 


MORAT.   PROGRESS. 


413 


virtue  is  in  many  ways  made  difficult  rather  than  easy.' 
Among  the  rich  luxury  is  encouraged.  Wants  are 
multiplied,  and  go  on  multiplying  themselves,  and 
men  are  tempted  to  seek  the  satisfaction  of  them  by 
dishonourable  means.  The  poor,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  exploited — /.  e.  used  as  a  mere  means  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  others.  They  have  no  leisure  for  culture 
and  are  exposed  to  many  temptations.  When  a  nation 
has  reached  such  a  stage  as  this,  it  often  declines  and 
falls.  Indeed  it  must  do  so,  unless  it  is  reawakened 
by  a  reformer,  such  as  in  our  own  time  Carlyle  and 
Ruskin.  Sometimes  also  it  is  saved  by  a  revolution  ; 
but  this  generally  involves  almost  as  much  moral  evil 
as  the  corrupt  state  of  society  itself.  Sometimes,  again, 
a  nation  wanders  so  far  from  the  ways  of  righteousness 
that  other  nations  feel  justified  in  stepping  in  for  its 
punishment.  It  is  in  such  cases  that  an  offensive  war- 
fare seems  to  be  justified.  But  it  is  seldom  that  one 
nation  is  thus  entitled  to  make  itself  the  judge  of  an- 
other. The  Jews  seem  to  have  regarded  themselves 
in  this  way  in  ancient  times.  In  modern  times,  as  a 
general  rule,  only  a  combination  of  nations  could  feel 
themselves  to  represent  the  side  of  right  reason  against 
the  corruptions  of  some  particular  society.* 

y  See  Carlyle's  view  on  this  point  in  his  Essay  on  "The  Opera." 
^This  chapter  is  of  course  concerned  only  with  the  ethical  aspect 
of  moral  pathology.  For  other  aspects  see  the  interesting  books  by 
Mr.  W.  D.  Morrison  on  Juvenile  Ojfciidcrs  duxACrimc  and  its  Causes ; 
also  Enrico  Ferri's  Criminal  Sociology^  Maudsley's  Body  and  Mind^ 
and  other  works  on  morbid  psychology,  criminology,  &c. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


MORAL       PROGRESS. 


§  1.  Social  Evolution. — Although  we  have  frequently 
referred,  throughout  the  preceding  chapters,  to  the  fact 
that  the  moral  life  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  process  of 
development,  yet  our  treatment  of  it  has  been  to  a 
large  extent  statical.  What  has  been  said,  however,  in 
the  closing  paragraphs  of  the  last  two  chapters,  with 
reference  to  the  work  of  the  moral  reformer,  seems  to 
lead  us  naturally  to  a  more  explicit  consideration  of 
the  conditions  of  moral  development.  That  there  is  a 
certain  "increasing  purpose  through  the  ages,"  is  a 
truth  that  is  now  in  some  form  generally  admitted, 
however  much  we  may  be  tempted  at  times  to  doubt  it. 
This  is  on  the  whole  an  entirely  modern  conception,  and 
is  somewhat  contrary  to  the  impressions  of  the  natural 
man.  It  is  not  only  to  the  graceful  pessimism  of  a 
Horace  that  the  present  generation  seems  a  degenerate 
offspring  of  heroic  sires.  The  idea  of  a  Golden  Age 
behind  us,  of  the  "good  old  times,"  when  men  were 
uncorrupted  by  the  luxuries  and  follies  of  a  later  age, 
of  the  "wisdom  of  our  ancestors,"  when  men  looked 
at  the  world  with  a  fresher  and  deeper  glance,  has  a 
certain  natural  fascination  for  the  discontented  spirit 
of  man.  Nor  is  it  entirely  without  a  basis  in  fact.  If 
"new  occasions  bring  new  duties,"  they  also  bring 
new  opportunities  for  vice.     Looking,  for  instance,   at 


!l 


li 


I!! 


414 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


the  commercial  morality  of  the  present  time,  and  com- 
paring- it  with  the  practices  of  more  primitive  peoples, 
we  have  often  a  difficulty  in  determining  whether,  in 
the  root  of  the  matter,  we  have  advanced  or  receded. 
If  in  some  respects  our  actions  seem  more  trustworthy 
and  based  on  broader  and  more  reasonable  principles, 
in  other  respects  we  seem  to  have  grown  more  selfish 
and  dishonest  than  men  ever  were  before.  *  It  is  only 
when  we  pass  from  the  actions  of  individual  human 
beings  to  the  consideration  of  the  principles  on  which 
men  are  expected  to  act — the  codes  of  duty  and  ideals 
of  virtue  which  have  grown  up  among  us — that  we 
gain  any  firm  assurance  of  progress.  When  we  reflect, 
however,  that  those  higher  conceptions  of  conduct 
which  prevail  among  us  could  scarcely  hold  their 
ground  if  there  were  not  some  individuals  who  habitu- 
ally acted  in  accordance  with  them,  we  may  be  led  to 
believe  that  even  in  the  individual  life  there  must  on 
the  whole  have  been  a  certain  advancement.  And, 
indeed,  this  conviction  ought  to  be  rather  strengthened 
than  otherwise  by  the  recognition  that,  in  our  modern 
system  of  life,  there  are  depths  of  degradation  which 
to  a  ruder  state  of  existence  are  scarcely  known. 
Corruptio  optimi  pessima.  The  grass,  as  Mr.  Ruskin 
somewhere  remarks,  is  green  every  year  :  it  is  only  the 
wheat  that,  on  account  of  its  higher  nature,  is  liable 
to  a  blight.  So,  too,  a  mere  animal  is  incapable  of  such 
a  fall  as  we  find  in  man.     As  Walt  Whitman  says, — 

"  They  do  not  sweat  and  whine  about  their  condition, 
They  do  not  lie  awake  in  the  dark  and  weep  for  their  sins. 
They  do  not  make  me  sick  discussing  their  duty  to  God  ; 
Not  one  is  dissatisfied,  not  one  is  demented 


1  Cf.  Marshall's  Principles  of  Economics,  pp.  6—8  and  361. 


> 


!•] 


MORAL   PROGRESS. 


415 


With  the  mania  of  owning  things  ; 

Not  one  kneels  to  another,  nor  to  his  kind  that  lived  thousands 

of  years  ago  ; 
Not  one  is  respectable  or  unhappy  over  the  whole  earth." 

All   this   is,    no   doubt,   very  creditable  to   the   lower 
animals  ;  yet  it  need  not  induce  us  to  envy  their  con- 
dition.     Man's  relative  un happiness,  as  Carlyle  says, 
is  due  to  his  greatness.      "The  assertion  of  our  weak- 
ness and  deficiency,"  as  Emerson  puts  it,  ''is  the  fine 
innuendo    by    which    the    soul    makes   its    enormous 
claim."     '*A  spark  disturbs  our  clod  ;"  and  this  dis- 
turbance brings  with  it  the  possibility  of  new  forms  of 
evil.     Animals  are  not  capable  of  the  higher  forms  of 
sin.      "  The  advantages  which  I  envy  in  my  neighbour, 
the  favour  of  society  or  of  a  particular  person  which  I 
lose  and  he  wins  and  which  makes  me  jealous  of  him, 
the  superiority  in  form  or  power  or  place  of  which  the 
imagination   excites  my  ambition — these  would  have 
no   more   existence  for  an  agent  not  self-conscious, 
or  not  dealing  with  other  self-conscious  agents,  than 
colour   has   for   the   blind.  "^     So  it   is  also,   in  some 
measure,  with  the  growth  of  civilization.     Knowledge 
is  power  for  evil  as  well  as  tor  good.     The  depth  of 
our  Hell  measures  the  height  of  our  Heaven  ;  and  when 
we  are  conscious  of  special  degradation  and  misery 
in  the  midst  of  a  high  civilization,  we  may  reflect,  with 
Milton's  Satan,  ''No  wonder,  fallen  such  a  pernicious 
height."    There  seems,  therefore,  to  be  no  real  reason 

1  Green's  Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  p.  131.  It  should,  however,  in 
fairness  be  noted,  that  practically  all  the  evils  here  alluded  to  are 
to  be  found  in  a  rudimentary  form  even  among  the  lower  animals. 
What  is  peculiar  to  man  is  not  so  much  the  presence  of  new  forms 
of  evil  as  the  clear  consciousness  that  they  are  evil,  and  the  conse- 
quent degradation  in  yielding  to  them.  Still,  it  is  also  true  that 
civilization  creates  more  subtle  forms  of  evil. 


1: 1 


i^ 


I ' 


4i6 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


tor  doubting  that  in  the  general  improvement  of  the 
conditions  of  life  there  is  also  a  certain  moral  advance.* 
To  the  consideration  of  this  advance  we  may  now 
appropriately  devote  a  few  paragraphs. 

§  2.  The  Moral  Universe. — We  have  seen  already 
that  the  moral  life  of  an  individual  is  lived  within  what 
may  be  described  as  a  social  or  moral  universe.  Such 
a  universe  is  constituted  by  various  elements.  It  con- 
sists, on  the  one  hand,  of  a  moral  ideal,  generally 
recognized  by  the  society  in  which  the  individual  lives. 
This  ideal  may  be  expressed  in  a  code  of  command- 
ments, in  a  series  of  injunctions,  or  in  the  form  of  a 
life  which  is  set  up  as  a  model  for  our  imitation.  This 
is  the  ideal  side  of  our  moral  universe.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  consists  of  definite  social  institutions,  such  as 
we  have  referred  to  in  Chapter  II.  Finally,  it  consists 
of  certain  habitual  modes  of  action,  acquired  rather  by 
half-unconscious  imitation  than  by  any  distinct  injunc- 
tions or  efforts  to  copy  an  ideal  pattern.  In  any  given 
age  and  country  these  three  elements  of  a  social 
universe  will  nearly  always  be  found  in  some  more  or 
less  fully  developed  form  ;  but  often  there  is  a  very 
considerable  divergence  between  the  three.  A  people*s 
ideal  does  not  always  bear  a  close  resemblance  to  its 

1  Even  Carlyle  partly  admits  this.  See  his  Heroes  and  Hero-Wor- 
ship,  Lect.  IV.  "  I  do  not  make  much  of '  Progress  of  the  Species' 
as  handled  in  these  times  of  ours.  .  .  .  Yet  I  may  say,  the  fact  itself 
seems  certain  enough.  .  .  .  No  man  whatever  believes,  or  can  believe, 
exactly  what  his  grandfather  believed :  he  enlarges  somewhat,  by 
fresh  discovery,  his  view  of  the  Universe  ;  and  consequently  his 
Theorem  of  the  Universe.  ...  It  is  the  history  of  every  man  ;  and  in 
the  history  of  mankind  we  see  it  summed  up  into  great  historical 
amounts— revolutions,  new  epochs.  ...  So  with  all  beliefs  whatso- 
ever in  this  world— all  Systems  of  Belief  and  Systems  of  Practice  that 
spring  from  these." 


§3.] 


MORAL   PROGRESS. 


417 


institutions  or  its  habits  ;  and  sometimes  even  its  habits 
are  not  entirely  conformable  to  its  institutions.  A 
religion  of  peace  and  good-will  has  been  found  not 
incompatible  with  the  thumb-screw  and  the  torpedo  ; 
and  the  existence  of  the  monogamic  family  is  not 
always  a  guarantee  of  social  purity.  A  large  part  of 
the  moral  development  of  peoples  consists  in  the  effort 
to  adjust  these  three  elements  to  one  another;  though 
it  also  partly  consists  in  the  effort  to  elevate  their  ideas, 
and  improve  their  institutions  and  habits. 

§  3.  Inner    Contradiction    in    our    Universe. — The 
mere  want  of  adjustment  between  the  various  elements 
in    our   moral  universe  is  often   of  itself  sufficient  to 
suggest  the  need  of  a  new  ideal  or  of  new  institutions. 
Institutions  to  which  men's  habits  cannot  be  adapted  are 
soon  felt  to  be  unsatisfactory,  ^nd  have  to  be  abolished. 
This  was  largely  true,  for  instance,  of  the  institution  of 
celibacy  among  the  clergy  in  the  middle   ages.     So, 
again,  if  our  institutions  and  habits  are  in  contradiction 
with  our  ideal,  this  will  sometimes  be  the  means  of 
enabling  us  to  see  that  our  ideal  is  too  narrow.     The 
early  Christian  ideal  has  been  in  this  way  expanded  by 
the  absorption  of  elements  derived  from   the  Greeks 
and  other  pagan  peoples.     On    the   other  hand,   our 
habits  may  become  gradually  reformed,  so  as  to  adapt 
themselves  to  the  institutions  among  which  we  live  ; 
and  our  institutions  may  gradually  be  adjusted  to  our 
ideals.     This  is  perhaps  the  more  normal  course  of  the 
two.     Sometimes  there  is  a  crisis  in  a  people's  life,  in 
which  the  question  arises,  whether  the  institutions  are 
to  be  revolutionized  or  men's  habits  reformed.     There 
seems  to  be  such  a  crisis,  for  instance,  at  the  present 
time  with  regard  to  our  industrial  system. 


Eth. 


27 


ik 


4i8 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


§  4.  Sense  of  Incompleteness. — Even  apart,  how- 
ever, from  those  contradictions  within  our  universe 
which  drive  us  forward  by  a  kind  of  natural  dialectic, 
there  is  also  a  tendency  to  progress  in  our  habits, 
institutions,  and  ideals,  due  simply  to  our  conscious- 
ness of  their  incompleteness.  This  incompleteness  is 
often  first  brought  to  clear  consciousness  by  some 
reformer  who  points  out  a  certain  want  of  logic  in  our 
present  system.  Such  a  reformer  points  out,  for  in- 
stance, that  we  habitually  act  in  one  way  under  certain 
circumstances,  but  in  quite  an  opposite  way  under 
other  circumstances,  when  there  is  no  sufficient  rea- 
son to  account  for  the  difference.  He  may  point  out 
inconsistencies,  for  instance,  in  the  way  in  which  men 
commonly  treat  their  children,  being  sometimes  cruel 
and  sometimes  over-indulgent.  Or  he  may  point  out 
the  difference  between  the  morality  recognized  in  the 
relations  between  countries  in  their  negotiations  with 
one  another  and  that  recognized  in  the  relations 
between  individuals,  and  may  ask  whether  there  is  any 
adequate  reason  for  this  contrast.  Or  he  may  point  to 
the  pains  inflicted  on  animals  in  certain  processes  of 
vivisection,  or  in  various  forms  of  the  chase,  or  in 
slaughter-houses,  or  even  in  the  ordinary  use  of  animals 
as  instruments  of  human  service  ;  he  may  contrast  this 
with  the  treatment  accorded  to  human  beings  ;  and 
may  ask  whether,  seeing  that  in  respect  of  the  suffering 
of  pain  there  appears  to  be  no  distinction  between  men 
and  animals,  there  is  any  sufficient  reason  for -tolerating 
in  the  case  of  animals  what  would  not  be  tolerated  in 
the  case  of  men.  Or,  again,  he  may  turn  to  the 
inslitutions  of  social  life,  as  distinguished  from  its  habits, 
and  may  call  attention   to  anomalies  in   the  govern- 


§5.] 


MORAL   PROGRESS. 


419 


ment  of  the  country,  in  the  regulation   of  family  life, 
in  the  methods  of  industrial  action,  and  in  the  various 
other  organized  forms  in  which  the  life  of  the  com., 
munity  is  carried  on.     He   may  thus   criticise   these 
institutions  by  means  of  themselves,  showing  that  the 
principles  underlying   them  are  incompletely    carried 
out.     He  may  ask,  for  instance,  upon  what  recognized 
principle  women  are  excluded  from  certain  functions 
and  privileges  which   are   universally  open    to   men. 
Finally,    such   a   reformer,    carrying   his    weapon    of 
criticism  still  higher,  may  attack  our  ideals  themselves. 
He  may  ask  whether  we  are  quite  consistent  in  our 
ideas  of  what  constitutes  the  highest  kind  of  life.      Is 
there  not  a  certain  narrowness  about  them .?     Do  we 
not  apply  principles  in  one  direction  which  we  omit  to 
extend  in  another.?     If  we  attach  so  much  importance 
to  the  tithing  of  mint  and  cummin,  should  we  not  be 
at   least  equally  careful   about  some  other  weightier 
matters  of  the  law  .?     If  the  ideal  man  should  be  brave 
in  battle  and  temperate  in  his  food  and  drink,  should 
he  not  also  show  fortitude  under  disaster  and   self- 
restraint   in   power.?      Such    questions    lead'    to    an 
extension  of  the  conception  of  our  duties  and  of  the 
virtues  which  we  ought  to  cultivate ;  and  this  aspect 
of  moral  development  is  so  important  that  it  may  be 
well  to  consider  it  a  little  more  fully. 

§  5.  Deepening  of  Spiritual  Life. — There  is  no  re- 
spect in  which  moral  progress  can  be  more  clearly 
seen  than  in  the  deepening  views  which  men  are  led 
to  take  of  the  nature  of  the   virtues  and  of  the  duties 

1  Through  the  force  of  persuasion.    It  is  here  that  Mr.  Alexander's 
view  of  "  Natural  Selection  in  Morals  "  is  in  pL?ce.    See  above  np 
243-246.  '  ^^* 


420 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


that  are  required  of  them.  This  has  been  illustrated 
in  a  most  masterly  manner  by  Green  in  that  part  of  his 
Prolegomena  to  Ethics  '  in  which  he  contrasts  the  Greek 
with  the  modern  conceptions  of  virtue — perhaps  the 
most  original  and  suggestive  chapter  in  the  whole  of 
that  great  work.  He  takes  up  the  two  most  prominent 
of  the  personal  virtues  recognized  by  the  Greeks, 
courage  and  temperance,^  and  shows  how  in  modern 
times  both  the  range  of  their  application  has  been  ex- 
tended and  the  conception  of  the  principle  on  which 
they  rest  deepened.  With  regard  to  temperance,  for 
instance,  he  observes  that  the  Greeks  limited  the  ap- 
plication of  this  virtue  to  questions  of  food  and  drink 
and  sexual  intercourse ;  whereas,  in  modern  times, 
we  apply  it  to  various  other  forms  of  self-denial.  He 
urges,  moreover,  that  even  with  regard  to  those  parti- 
cular forms  of  self-indulgence  which  the  Greeks  recog- 
nized as  vicious,  the  principles  on  which  they  rested 
the  claim  for  self-denial  were  not  so  deep  as  ours. 

' '  We  present  to  ourselves, "  as  he  says,  3  "the  objects 
of  moral  loyalty  which  we  should  be  ashamed  to  for- 
sake for  our  pleasures,  in  a  far  greater  variety  of  forms 
than  did  the  Greek,  and  it  is  a  much  larger  self-denial 
which  loyalty  to  these  objects  demands  of  us.  It  is 
no  longer  the  State  alone  that  represents  to  us  the 
melior  natura  before  whose  claims  our  animal  inclina- 
tions sink  abashed.  Other  forms  of  association  put 
restraints  and  make  demands  on  us  which  the  Greek 
knew  not.  An  indulgence,  which  a  man  would  other- 
wise allow  himself,     he  foregoes  in  consideration  of 

1  Book  III.,  chap.  v. 

2  Cj.  also  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  pp.  225—8. 
8  Loc.  cit,  p.  284. 


>.] 


MORAL  PROGRESS. 


421 


claims  on  the  part  of  wife  or  children,  of  men  as  such 
or  women  as  such,  of  fellow-Christians  or  fellow-work- 
men, which  could  not  have  been  made  intelligible  in 
the  ancient  world.  ...  It  is  certain  that  the  require- 
ments founded  on  ideas  of  common  good,  which  in 
our  consciences  we  recognize  as  calling  for  the  surrender 
of  our  inclinations  to  pleasure,  are  more  far-reaching 
and  penetrate  life  more  deeply  than  did  such  require- 
ments in  the  ancient  world,  and  that  in  consequence 
a  more  complete  self-denial  is  demanded  of  us."  And 
Green  goes  on  to  add  that  even  in  respect  of  those 
aspects  of  life  in  which  the  Greeks  did  recognize  the 
virtue  of  self-denial,  their  recognition  is  less  complete 
and  far-reaching  than  that  of  the  moral  consciousness 
in  our  own  time.  This  is  especially  true  with  regard 
to  self-denial  in  matters  of  sexual  indulgence.  And 
the  change  which  has  thus  taken  place  in  our  moral 
consciousness  does  not  mean  merely  that  we  have  ex- 
tended the  range  within  which  certain  virtues  are  ap- 
plicable. It  involves  also  a  deepening  of  our  concep- 
tion of  the  principles  on  which  the  virtue  rests.  "  The 
principles  from  which  it  was  derived  "  '  by  the  Greek 
moralists,  ''so  far  as  they  were  practically  available 
and  tenable,  seem  to  have  been  twofold.  One  was 
that  all  indulgence  should  be  avoided  which  unfitted  a 
man  for  the  discharge  of  his  duties  in  peace  or  war  ; 
the  other,  that  such  a  check  should  be  kept  on  the  lusts 
of  the  flesh  as  might  prevent  them  from  issuing  in  what 
a  Greek  knew  as  ol3pi<; — a  kind  of  self-assertion  and 
aggression  upon  the  rights  of  others  in  respect  of  person 
and  property,  for  which  we  have  not  an  equivalent 
name,  but  which  was  looked  upon  as  the  antithesis  of 

1  Loc.  cit,  p.  285. 


422 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


the  civil  spirit."  Another  prevalent  notion  among 
Greek  philosophers  vi^as  "  that  the  kind  of  pleasure  with 
which  temperance  has  to  do  is  in  some  way  unworthy 
of  man,  because  one  of  which  the  other  animals  are 
susceptible."  "Society  was  not  in  a  state  in  which 
the  principle  that  humanity  in  the  person  of  every  one 
is  to  be  treated  always  as  an  end,  never  merely  as  a 
means,  could  be  apprehended  in  its  full  universality; 
and  it  is  this  principle  alone,  however  it  may  be  stated, 
which  affords  a  rational  ground  for  the  obligation  to 
chastity  as  we  understand  it.  The  society  of  modern 
Christendom,  it  is  needless  to  say,  is  far  enough  from 
acting  upon  it,  but  in  its  conscience  it  recognizes  the 
principle  as  it  was  not  recognized  in  the  ancient  world. 
The  legal  investment  of  every  onewnth  personal  rights 
makes  it  impossible  for  one  whose  mind  is  open  to  the 
claims  of  others  to  ignore  the  wrong  of  treating  a  woman 
as  the  servant  of  his  pleasures  at  the  cost  of  her  own  de- 
gradation. Though  the  wrong  is  still  habitually  done, 
it  is  done  under  a  rebuke  of  conscience  to  which  a 
Greek  of  Aristotle's  time,  with  most  women  about  him 
in  slavery,  and  without  even  the  capacity  (to  judge 
from  the  writings  of  the  philosophers)  for  an  ideal  of 
society  in  which  this  should  be  otherwise,  could  not 
have  been  sensible.  The  sensibility  could  only  arise 
in  sequence  upon  that  change  in  the  actual  structure  of 
society  through  which  the  human  person,  as  such,  with- 
out distinction  of  sex,  became  the  subject  of  rights."  ' 
Thus  we  have  here,  not  merely  an  extension  of  the 
range  of  the  virtue,  but  also  a  deeper  conception  of 
the  principle  upon  which  it  rests.  And  the  same  truth 
might  be  illustrated  in  the  case  of  other  virtues.     The 

1  Loc.  cit ,  p.  288. 


6.1 


MORAL   PROGRESS. 


423 


nrinciple  of  the  virtues,  in  fact,  becomes  universalized, 
and  ceases  to  attachitself  simply  to  this  or  that  particular 
mode  of  manifestation.     And  along  with  this  universa- 
lization  there  comes  a  deeper  consciousness   of  the  m- 
wardness  of  the  virtuous  life.     So  long  as  the  virtues 
are  connected  only  with  particular  modes  of  manifesta- 
tion in  social  life  (e.  g.  courage  with  the  activities  of 
war)    they  seem  to  be  little  more  than  outer  facts 
When    on  the  other  hand,  we  see  that  the  essence  of 
the  virtues  consists  in  the  application  of  a  certain  prin- 
ciple, whatever  may  be  the  sphere  in  which  it  is  ap- 
plied, we  recognize  at  the  same  time  that  their  essence 
lies  rather  in  the  attitude  of  the  individual  heart  than 
in   the  particular  forms  of  outward  action.     It  is  true 
that  the  Greeks  were  by  no   means  ignorant  of  this 
essentially    inward  character    of  the  virtues.     They 
knew-«.  'e.  their  best  thinkers  knew-that  the  virtues 
are  not  virtues  at  all  unless  they  are  accompanied  with 
purity  of  heart  and  will,  unless  they  are  done  ro«  mh,u 
Lx«,  for  the  sake  of  what  is  beautiful  or  noble.     Bu 
the  recognition  of  this  has  been  very  much  deepened 
by  the  growth  of  a  clearer  consciousness  of  the  uni- 
versality of  the  principles  on  which  the  virtues  rest. 

8  6.  New  Obligations. -In  the  preceding  section  we 
have  seen  that  the  deepening  of  the  conception  of  the 
principle  on  which  the  virtues  rest  is  accompanied  by 
an  extension  of  the  sphere  of  their  application.  The 
expansion  of  our  ideas  of  obligation  which  takes  place 
in  this  way  is  of  a  comparatively  simple  kind.     \\e 

1  It  seems  to  me  that   Green  somewhat  exaggerates   the  unity 
of  sentrrnt  on  this  point  in  the  Greek  and  Chris^  -^^^^^^^^^^^ 
Tu;^  t^  oif  <ipn   n  288  &c.    But  no  doubt  there  is  greater 
':^^S^^^^^^  ^^^  <^'-gence  between  them. 


H 


(\ 


424  ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 

I  -"  learn  to  recognize  that  what  applies  to  the  Greek  ap- 
^  <  plies  equally  to  the  Barbarian,  that  what  applies  to  the 
\^  Jew  applies  equally  to  the  Gentile,  that  what  applies 
to  men  applies  equally  to  women.  But  along  with 
this  expansion  there  is  another  of  a  less  simple  kind, 
by  which  we  become  aware  of  obligations  that  present 
themselves  to  our  minds  as  new  rather  than  as  mere 
extensions  of  the  old  ones.  Thus,  when  the  Christian 
conception  of  man's  nature  and  destiny  was  intro- 
duced, it  seemed  to  bring  with  it  an  obligation  of  pro- 
pagandism  which  had  not  been  felt  in  the  same  way 
before.  The  recognition  of  the  infinite  issues  at  stake 
in  the  moral  regeneration  of  mankind,  and  of  the  in- 
terest in  these  issues  which  belongs  to  every  individ- 
ual soul,  rendered  it  an  imperative  obligation  on  those 
who  accepted  the  Christian  doctrine  to  endeavour,  to 
the  utmost  of  their  power,  to  "preach  the  Gospel  to 
every  creature."  On  the  other  hand,  the  knowledge 
which  has  been  subsequently  acquired  of  the  gradual 
way  in  which  the  moral  nature  develops,  has  modified 
the  obligation  of  preaching,  and  transformed  it  into 
the  obligation  to  make  intellectual  and  moral  education 
universally  accessible.  Again,  the  knowledge  that  has 
recently  been  acquired  of  the  relation  between  men 
and  animals  has  led  to  a  transformation  of  our  view 
with  regard  to  the  way  in  which  the  latter  ought  to 
be  treated.  It  would  be  going  somewhat  too  far  to 
describe  this  transformation  by  saying  that  we  have 
extended  to  the  lower  animals  the  same  conception  of 
rights  and  obligations  as  we  apply  to  men.  In  the 
case  of  some  of  the  lower  animals  any  such  extension 
would  be  generally  regarded  as  absurd;  and  even  with 
respect  to  the  highest  of  them,  unless  we  allow  that 


§6.] 


MORAL  PROGRESS. 


425 


they  are  self-conscious,  rational  beings,  with  a  moral 
life  like  that  of  man  (which  even  their  best  friends 
scarcely  claim  for  them),  we  cannot  acknowledge  that 
they  possess  rights,  in  any  strict  interpretation  of  the 
term.  All  that  we  seem  entitled  to  say  is,  that  we 
have  begun  to  recognize  that  the  animal  consciousness 
has  a  certain  kinship  with  our  own,  that  we  can  dis- 
cover in  it  traces  of  feelings,  perceptions,,  and  instincts 
that  appear  to  be  on  the  way  towards  the  development 
of  a  moral  life,  and  that  consequently  we  feel  bound 
to  treat  the  animals,  at  least  in  their  higher  forms,  in 
a  way  that  is  semi-human— in  a  way  approximating 
to  that  in  which  we  treat  children,  in  whom  also  the 
moral  consciousness,  to  which  rights  attach,  is  not 
fully  developed.*  But  the  acknowledgment  of  our 
relationship  has,  in  recent  times,  extended  even  further 
than  this.  Even  with  inanimate  nature  we  have  be- 
gun to  recognize  a  certain  kinship  ;  and  this  has  given 
rise  in  some  minds  to  a  more  or  less  vague  sentiment 
that  even  natural  scenery  possesses  a  certain  quasi- 
right  to  exist,  and  ought  not  to  be  wantonly  outraged. 

In  noticing  such  extensions  of  our  obligations  as 
these,  it  ought  not  to  be  denied  that  there  are  also 
some  obligations  of  which  we  are  apt  to  lose  the  con- 
sciousness. Thus,  it  has  often  been  pointed  out  that, 
in  more  primitive  times,  the  consciousness  of  the 
mutual  obligations  of  master  and  servant  was  much 
stronger  than  it  is  now.  This  must  be  fully  admitted. 
At  the  same  time  it  should  be  remembered  that  this 

1 1  need  hardly  say  that  I  do  not  intend  this  passage  to  be  taken 
as  a  complete  discussion  of  this  difficult  question.  The  quasi-nghis 
of  children,  for  instance,  must  differ  widely  from  those  of  the  lower 
animals,  inasmuch  as  the  former  are  actually  on  the  way  to  become 
rational,  whereas  the  latter  are  not. 


1*1 


426 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


partial  obliteration  of  the  consciousness  of  a  duty  is 
partly  due  to  an  extension  of  the  sphere  within  which 
our  obligations  hold.  The  intensity  of  the  personal 
relationship  between  master  and  servant  (which,  how- 
ever, is  often  greatly  exaggerated)  was  due  in  part  to 
the  fact  that  no  human  obligation  was  acknowledged 
except  what  was  due  to  that  particular  relationship. 
The  servant  was  supposed  to  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude 
to  his  master  for  the  protection  and  patronage  vouch- 
safed to  him.^  The  obligation  recognized  on  the  side 
of  the  master  was,  I  am  afraid,  generally  of  a  much 
vaguer  character.  Now,  on  the  other  hand,  we  recog- 
nize the  obligation  of  man  to  man,  as  such,  independ- 
ently of  any  special  relationships.  That  this  recogni- 
tion of  a  wider  sphere  of  duty  has  practically  weakened 
the  narrower  ties,  seems  to  be  partly  true.  It  is 
always  more  difficult  to  act  up  to  the  requirements  of 
a  large  obligation  than  to  those  of  a  small  one.  But 
this  ought  not  to  prevent  us  from  perceiving  that  there 
has  been  a  great  extension  of  the  sphere  of  acknow- 
ledged duty. 

§  7.  Moral  Change  and  Change  of  Environment. — 
The  question  is  sometimes  raised  ^  whether  the  exten- 
sion which  thus  takes  place  in  our  view  of  moral 
obligation  is  in  reality  due  to  a  development  of  our 
moral  consciousness,  or  only  to  a  change  in  our  en- 
vironment. Thus,  it  may  be  urged  that  the  emancipa- 
tion of  slaves  ^  in  modern  times  may  be  accounted  for 
by  the  general  development  of  our  industrial  methods  ; 

iC/.  Buckle's //is/ory  oj  Civilization,  Vol.   III.,  p.  325.    See  also 
above,  pp.  304.  note  i,  and  346,  note  i. 
2  Cf.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,,  p.  229  seq. 
«  Cf.  Adam  Smith's  Wealth  of  Nations,  Book  III.,  chap,  il 


7,] 


MORAL   PROGRESS. 


427 


and  it  may  be  suggested  that  the  attempt  to  rest  the 
movement  in  this  direction  on  general  considerations 
of  the  rights  of  men  is  merely  an  illustration  of  the 
cant  and  hypocrisy  of  the  modern  age.     Now  it  seems 
clear  that  the  general  recognition  of  the  possibility  of 
abolishing  slavery  (which  Aristotle  could  not  acknow- 
ledge),  and  with  this  the  recognition  of  the  duty  of 
actually  abolishing  it,  was  really  due  to  the  develop- 
ment of  economic  conditions.     And  a  similar  remark 
would  apply  in  most  other  cases  in  which  an  extension 
of  recognized  obligations  occurs.     It  is  so,  for  instance, 
also  with  the  movement  towards  the  emancipation  of 
women.     New  industrial  conditions  have  pushed  for- 
ward the  demand  for  it.     But  this  fact  need  not  in  any 
way  stumble  us,  or  make  us  hesitate  the  more  to  be- 
lieve that  there  is  a  moral   advance.      Doubtless  the 
moral  life  does  not  grow  up  in  vacuo.     It  is  relative 
throughout  to  the  environment  in  which  it  is  nurtured. 
It  grows  by  the  increase  of  our  knowledge,  by  the  in- 
crease of  our  power,  by  the  increase  of  the  possibilities 
of  our  action.     The  moral  life  is  thus  constantly  being 
determined  anew  by  the  new  conditions  and  combina- 
tions presented  for  solution,  and  by  the  new  directions 
in  which  possible  solutions  appear. '     But  its  growth  is 
not  therefore  the  less  real.     Those  who  know  anything 
of  the  spirit  in  which  the  emancipation  of  the  slaves 
was  carried  out,  must  be  well  aware  that,  however 
true  it  may  be  that  industrial  conditions  made  it  pos- 
sible, that  industrial  conditions  first  brought  it  to  men's 
minds,  and  first  won  for  it  a  general  acceptance,  how- 

1  The  spirit  of  man  "makes  contemporary  life  the  object  on  which 
it  acts  ;  itself  being  the  infinite  impulse  of  activity  to  alter  its  forms." 
Hegel's  Philosophy  of  History  (English  translation),  p.  215 


II 


n 


'ff- 


428 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


ever  true  it  may  even  be  that  commercial  and  merely 
political  motives  weighed  most  strongly  with  the  rank 
and  file  of  those  who  fought  for  its  accomplishment, 
yet  the  inspiration  of  the  great  leaders  of  the  move- 
ment, without  which  the  necessary  self-sacrifice  would 
never  have  been  undergone,  was  at  bottom  purely 
moral.  Mere  external  changes  may  bring  the  need  of 
a  moral  reform  to  light ;  but  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  they 
thus  serve  to  awaken  a  moral  consciousness  that  the 
world  is  moved  by  them. 

5  8  The  Ideal  Universe. — The  fact  of  moral  progress 
causes  it  to  be  not  entirely  true  that  the  good  man, 
and  especially  the  moral  genius  (who  is  generally  at 
the  same  time  a  moral  reformer),  lives  within  a  uni- 
verse constituted  by  actually  existing  habits  and  in- 
stitutions, or  even  by  ideals  that  are  definitely  acknow- 
ledged at  a  given  time  and  place.  What  is  said  of 
Abraham  may  be  applied  to  the  moral  life  generally. 
'*By  faith  Abraham,  when  he  was  called  to  go  out 
into  a  place  which  he  should  after  receive  for  an  in- 
heritance, obeyed  ;  and  he  went  out,  not  knowing 
whither  he  went.  .  .  .  For  he  looked  for  a  city  which 
hath  foundations,  whose  Builder  and  Maker  is  God." 
The  spirit  of  man,  in  its  moral  growth,  looks  continu- 
ally for  such  a  city.  It  is  continually  "  moving  about 
in  worlds  not  realized."  It  is  dissatisfied  with  the 
habits  and  institutions  actually  established  at  any  time 
and  place,  and  even  with  the  ideals  that  are  customa- 
rily recognized,  and  presses  forward  towards  a  form  of 
life  that  shall  be  more  complete,  consistent,  and  satis- 
fying.^    Hence  the  perennial  interest  of  Utopias  and 

1  "That  which  gives  life  its  keynote  is,  not  what  men  think  good, 
but  what  they  think  best.     True,  this  is  not  the  part  of  beHef  which 


g  8  1  MORAL  PROGRESS.  429 

poetic  dreams  and  anticipations  of  better  modes  of 
existence.  The  danger,  in  such  dreams  and  anticipa- 
tions, is  that  they  are  apt  to  represent  only  a  partial 
and  abstract  phase  in  the  development  of  life,  and  to 
involve  some  loss  of  hold  upon  its  concrete  content. 
In  this  sense,  there  is  some  truth  in  the  saying  that 
the  world  as  a  whole  is  wiser  than  its  wisest  men. 
The  fresh  intuitions  of  the  prophets,  who  are  as 
strangers  and  pilgrims  on  the  earth,  require  to  be  re- 
interpreted in  the  light  of  the  practical  good  sense  of 
those  who  are  at  home  on  it.  The  prophetic  seer  is 
sometimes  apt  to  be  blinded  by  his  own  light,  so  that 
the  rest  of  the  world  seems  to  him  darkness.  Hence 
the  melancholy  which  Carlyle  regarded  as  at  the  basis 

is  embodied  in  conduct :  the  ordinary  man  tries  to  avoid  only  what 
is  obviously  wrong ;  the  best  of  men  does  not  always  make  us 
aware  that  he  is  striving  after  what  is  right.    We  do  not  see  people 
growing  into  the  resemblance  of  what  they  admire  ;  it  is  much  if 
we  can  see  them  growing  into  the  unlikeness  of  that  which  they 
condemn.    But  the  dominant  influence  of  life  lies  ever  in  the  un- 
realized    While  all  that  we  discern  is  the  negative  aspect  of  a 
man's  ideal,  that  ideal  itself  lives  by  admiration  which  never  clothes 
itself  in  word  or  deed.     In  seeing  what  he  avoids  we  judge  only 
the  least  important  part  of  his  standard  ;  it  is  that  which  he  never 
strives  to  realize  in  his  own  person  which  makes  him  what  he  is. 
The  average,  secular  man  of  to-day  is  a  different  being  because 
Christendom  has  hallowed  the  precept  to  give  the  cloak  to  him 
who  asks  the  coat ;  it  would  be  easier  to  argue  that  this  claim  for 
what  most  would  call  an  impossible  virtue  has  been  injurious  than 
that  it  has  been   impotent.     Christianity  has  moulded  character 
where  we  should  vainly  seek  to  discern  that  it  has  influenced  con- 
duct.   Not  the  criminal  code,  but  the  counsel  of  perfection  shows  us 
what  a  nation  is  becoming;  and  he  who  casts  on  any  set  of  duties 
the  shadow  of  the  second  best,  so  far  as  he  is  successful,  does  more 
to  influence  the  moral  ideal  than  he  who  succeeds  in  passing  a  new 
law."    These  suggestive,  and  even  profound  remarks  are  taken 
from  Miss  Wedgwood's  work  on  The  Moral  Ideal  (p.  373)-    The 
italics  are  mine. 


l\ 


"9nril 


430 


ETHICS.  [BK.  III.,  CH.  VII. 


of  all  true  insight — the  pessimism  and  despair  which 
cloud  the  consciousness,  so  long  as  it  sees  only  the 
imperfection  and  incompleteness  of  all  actual  achieve- 
ment in  the  moral  life,  in  contrast  with  the  partial 
Pisgah-sight  of  something  better  to  be  attained  ;  and 
does  not  yet  perceive,  what  is  often  the  deeper  truth, 
that  the  germs  of  the  better  are  already  at  work  in  the 
partly  good,  and  may  even  be  contained  in  what  pre- 
sents itself  at  first  as  simply  bad. 

The  recognition,  however,  of  this  moral  faith,  this 
presence  of  the  consciousness  of  an  unattained  and  even 
unformulated  ideal,  leads  us  at  once  into  the  region  of 
poetry  and  religion,  which  in  a  manner  transcend 
morality.  The  consideration  of  these  would  carry  us 
beyond  our  present  subject ;  but  we  may  conclude 
with  a  chapter  on  the  relationship  between  Ethics  and 
Metaphysics,  in  which  the  place  of  religion  will  be  in- 
cidentally referred  to. ' 

^  The  whole  subject  of  the  present  chapter  is  most  admirably 
treated  in  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  Book  V, 


§1.] 


ETHICS   AND    METAPHYSICS. 


431 


CONCLUDING  CHAPTER. 


ETHICS    AND    METAPHYSICS. 

§  1.  General  Remarks. — It  must  be  evident  to  the 
discerning  reader  that,  in  what  has  gone  before,  we 
have  occasionally  been  skating  on  rather  thin  ice.     The 
ultimate  questions  to  which  we  have  been  led  have 
not  received  any  quite  satisfactory  solution.     We  have 
perhaps  seen  the  insufficiency  of  all  other  theories  of 
Ethics  more  fully  than  we  have  seen  the  sufficiency  of 
that  which  we  have  been  led  to  adopt.     The  truth  is 
that  the  theory  of  Ethics  which  seems  most  satisfactory 
has  a  metaphysical  basis,  and  without  the  considera- 
tion of  that  basis  there  can  be  no  thorough  understand- 
ing of  it.     If  we  could  have  satisfied  ourselves  with  a 
Hedonistic  theory,  a  psychological  basis  might  perhaps 
have  sufficed.     On  the  other  hand,  if  one  of  the  current 
evolution  theories  could  be  accepted,  we   might  look 
for  our  basis  in  the  study  of  biology.     But  if  we  rest 
our  view  of  Ethics  on  the  idea  of  the  development  of 
the  ideal  self  or  of  the  rational  universe,  the  significance 
of  this  cannot  be  made  fully  apparent  without  a  meta- 
physical  examination  of  the  nature  of  the  self ;  nor  can 
its  validity  be  established  except  by  a  discussion  of  the 
reality  of  the  rational  universe.     Some  further  exami- 
nation of  this  point  seems  now  to  be  demanded. 

§2.  Validity  of  the   Ideal. — The  general  result  of 


(I 


432 


ETHICS.         [concluding   CH. 


our  inquiry  may  be  summed  up  as  follows.  We  have 
seen  that  the  moral  consciousness  presents  itself  first 
of  all  in  the  form  of  law,  a  supreme  command  or  cate- 
gorical imperative  imposed  on  the  will  of  the  individual. 
Hence,  when  reflection  begins  on  the  nature  of  morality, 
the  first  theory  which  presents  itself  is  one  that  con- 
ceives of  it  as  an  absolute  law  of  Duty.  But  this 
breaks  down,  because,  as  we  have  seen^  when  this 
idea  is  carefully  analyzed,  it  is  found  to  yield  no  con- 
tent. The  next  form  in  which  the  idea  of  morality 
presents  itself  is  that  of  the  Good  ;  and  this  is  naturally 
thought  of  at  first  simply  as  that  which  satisfies  desire, 
i.  e.  as  the  pleasant.  But  the  pleasant  is  formless,  just 
as  the  law  of  Duty  is  empty  ;  and  we  are  thus  led  to  look 
for  a  more  adequate  conception  of  the  Good.  This  is 
found  in  the  idea  of  the  complete  realization  of  the 
essential  nature  of  mankind.  But  in  order  to  under- 
stand this,  it  is  necessary  to  study  the  nature  of  man- 
kind in  its  concrete  development.  Accordingly,  we 
have  been  led  to  notice,  in  a  brief  and  summary  fashion, 
the  ways  in  which  the  realization  of  humanity  may 
be  regarded  as  accomplishing  itself  through  the  various 
institutions  of  social  life,  through  the  duties  and  virtues 
which  grow  up  in  connection  with  these,  through  the 
growth  of  the  inner  life  of  the  individual,  and  through 
the  progressive  development  of  human  history. 
Through  these  various  activities  mankind  may  be  seen 
tv>  be  gradually  attaining  to  that  complete  rationality 
which  can  only  be  reached  through  the  complete 
grasping  of  the  world  of  experience,  and  bringing  it 
into  intelligible  relationship  to  ourselves.  This  process 
cannot  be  seen  to  complete  itself  within  the  actual 
moral  life  of  mankind  ;  and  the  ideal  involved  in  the 


§3.] 


ETHICS   AND    METAPHYSICS. 


433 


moral  life  is  consequently  unfulfilled.  Life  remains  at 
the  best  incomplete — a  noble  work,  it  may  be,  but  a 
torso.  Now  this  incompleteness  in  the  concrete  reali- 
zation of  the  moral  ideal  brings  with  it  the  further  de- 
fect that  the  validity  of  the  moral  ideal  is  not  fully 
made  apparent  in  the  course  of  its  concrete  realization. 
If  mankind  could  be  supposed  actually  to  attain  that 
complete  development  of  human  faculty,  that  complete 
bringing  of  the  world  into  intelligible  and  harmonious 
relationship  to  the  human  consciousness,  at  which  we 
may  be  said  to  aim,  the  result  would  no  doubt  be  seen 
to  be  so  satisfying  in  itself  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  question  the  validity  of  the  ideal  as  an  object  of 
human  effort.  But  this  complete  justification  is  not 
possible  so  long  as  the  process  is  not  fully  worked  out. 
Now  it  is  this  insufficiency  in  the  moral  life  that  leads 
us  to  the  point  of  view  of  religion  ;  and  perhaps  some 
consideration  of  the  latter  may  enable  us  to  see  more 
clearly  the  nature  of  the  ultimate  problem  which  is  in- 
volved in  the  moral  consciousness. 

§  3.  Morality  and  Religion. — Matthew  Arnold,  as 
is  well  known,  defined  religion  as  ** morality  touched 
with  emotion."  *'This/'  remarks  Mr.  Muirhead,' 
**does  not  carry  us  far.  Emotion  is  not  a  distinctive 
mark  of  religious  conduct.  All  conduct  .  .  .  is  touched 
with  emotion,  otherwise  it  would  not  be  conduct  at 
all."  This  criticism  is  perhaps  not  entirely  fair.  All 
conduct  is  in  a  sense  touched  with  emotion — i.  e.  it 
involves  an  element  of  feeling.  So  does  all  conscious 
life.  But  this  need  not  prevent  us  from  distinguishing 
between  emotional  and  unemotional  acts  and  states. 
In  ordinary  life  the  element  of  feeling  is  to  all  intents 

1  Elements  of  Ethics,  p.  180. 
Eth.  28 


434 


?:tiiics.       [conxluding  ch. 


in  abeyance.  It  inHuences  us  quietly,  but  does  not 
rise  into  prominence.  We  do  what  is  in  harmony  with 
our  habits  and  convictions  ;  we  shun  what  is  in  dis- 
cord with  them  :  but  our  attention  is  not  specially 
directed  to  the  agreeableness  of  the  one  or  the  disagree- 
ableness  of  the  other.  The  one  does  not  thrill  us,  and 
the  other  does  not  jar  upon  us  or  shock  us.  This  is 
the  case  so  long  as  we  are  living  steadily  within  the 
universe  to  which  we  have  become  habituated.  And 
we  are  so  living  throughout  the  greater  part  of  that 
conduct  which  we  describe  as  moral.  Even  the  saint 
or  hero  may  perform  saintly  or  heroic  acts  with  no 
consciousness  that  he  is  doing  anything  particular, 
and  consequently  with  no  sense  either  of  harmony 
disturbed  or  of  harmony  restored.  The  more  entirely 
he  is  absorbed  in  his  work,  the  more  likely  is  this  to 
be  the  case.  Still  more  is  it  the  case  that  the  ''good 
neighbour"  and  the  "honest  citizen"  go  about  their 
avocations,  for  the  most  part,  with  no  particular  stir- 
rings of  the  breast.  On  the  other  hand,  Matthew 
Arnold  was  probably  so  far  in  the  right,  that  the  reli- 
gious attitude,  as  distinguished  from  the  simply  moral, 
is  at  least  generally  characterized  (as  is  also  the  artistic) 
by  a  more  or  less  distinctly  marked  emotion.  Still,  I 
agree  with  Mr.  Muirhead  in  thinking  that  Matthew 
Arnold's  definition  is  inadequate,  and  this  for  more 
reasons  than  one. 

In  the  first  place,  although  it  seems  an  exaggeration 
to  say  that  all  conduct  is  in  any  special  sense  char- 
acterized by  emotion,  yet  conduct  is  frequently  emo- 
tional without  being,  in  any  ordinary  sense  of  the  term, 
religious.  Conduct  becomes  emotional  whenever  our 
attention  is  strongly  directed  to  some  end,  affected  by 


3.] 


ETHICS   AND   METAPHYSICS. 


435 


our  conduct,  which  we  have  come  to  regard  as  su- 
premely important.  Now  this  end  may  or  may  not  be 
of  such  a  kind  as  we  ordinarily  designate  religious.  In 
a  hotly-contested  political  election,  a  man  may  perform 
his  duty  as  a  citizen  under  a  strong  emotional  influence, 
which  in  some  cases  has  been  so  powerful  as  to  pro- 
duce death.  Yet  we  should  scarcely  say  that  his  con- 
duct is  more  religious  than  that  of  the  good  workman 
who  carefully  finishes  his  job,  without  feeling  that 
anything  particular  is  at  stake.  Or  again,  when  one 
of  the  parents  of  a  large  family  suddenly  dies,  leaving 
the  whole  responsibility  on  the  shoulders  of  the  other, 
the  sense  of  this  new  responsibility,  in  a  conscientious 
person,  will  generally  cause  the  ordinary  duties  of  the 
family  to  be,  for  some  time  at  least,  performed  with 
a  keener  feeling  than  before  of  the  issues  that  are  at 
stake.  Yet  we  should  scarcely  say  that  it  is  thereby 
rendered  more  religious.  The  truth  is  that  the  emo- 
tional quality  of  our  actions  depends  largely  on  the 
question  whether  they  are  habitual  acts,  acts  that 
belong  to  the  ordinary  universe  within  which  we  live, 
or  whether  we  are  rising  into  an  unfamiliar  universe. 
Now  it  maybe  readily  granted  that  religion,  in  any 
real  sense  of  the  word,  can  hardly  be  made  so  habi- 
tual as  not  to  involve  some  uplifting  of  the  soul,  some 
withdrawal  from  the  point  of  view  of  ordinary  life  to  a 
more  comprehensive  or  more  profound  apprehension 
of  the  world  and  of  our  relations  to  it.  Hence  it  can 
hardly  fail  to  involve  emotion.  Even  \\i^  Amor  inteU 
leciualis  Dei  of  Spinoza,  however  purely  intellectual  it 
may  be,  is  still  amor.  But  conduct  may  involve  strong 
and  deep  emotion  and  yet  not  be  specially  religious. 
But,  in  the  second  place,  Matthew  Arnold's  definition 


436 


ETHICS.         [CONCLUDING   CH. 


seems  to  err  not  merely  by  including  much  which 
would  not,  in  any  ordinary  sense,  be  regarded  as  re- 
ligion, but  also  by  excluding  much  which  would 
naturally  fall  under  that  category.  Some  religions 
have  scarcely  any  direct  bearing  on  the  moral  life. 
Even  the  religion  of  the  Greeks,  oneof  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  typical  of  all  religions,  was  largely  a  worship 
of  the  powers  of  nature.  Their  gods  were  not  con- 
spicuously respectable  ;  and  though  in  an  indirect  way 
they  had  an  ennobling  influence  on  Greek  life,  yet  they 
were  not  consciously  set  up  as  models  of  moral  conduct, 
nor  did  the  worship  of  them  involve  any  direct  incite- 
ment to  virtue.  They  did  indeed,  stand  to  some  ex- 
tent as  representations  of  the  social  bond  ;  so  that  to 
violate  social  order  was  to  offend  against  the  gods  of 
the  society.  But  this  was  not  perhaps  their  most  pro- 
minent characteristic.  And  the  same  is  true  of  many 
other  forms  of  religion. »  It  cannot,  therefore,  be  said 
that  religion  is  always  to  be  regarded  as  immediately 
connected  with  the  moral  life. 

§  4.  The  Relation  of  Religion  to  Art. — The  connec- 
tion of  religion  with  Ethics,  in  fact,  appears  to  be  very 
similar  to  the  connection  of  art  with  Ethics  ;  *  and  we 

1  E.  g.,  the  Scandinavian.  The  religion  of  the  Romans,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  strongly  moral  (C/.  Froude's  Ccesar,  p.  12).  No 
doubt,  even  the  Scandinavian  and  early  German  mythologies  con- 
tained some  strongly-marked  ethical  traits  :  Cf.  Carlyle's  Heroes  and 
Hero-Worship,  sGci.  I.,  and  Prof.  Pfleiderer's  article  on  "The  Na- 
tional Traits  of  the  Germans  as  seen  in  their  Religion,"  in  the  Inter- 
national  Journal  of  Ethics  for  October,  1892  (vol.  iii.,  No.  i,  pp.  2—7). 

2  A  chapter  dealing  with  this  subject,  which  appeared  in  the  earlier 
edition  of  this  Manual,  has  been  omitted,  partly  from  want  of  space, 
and  partly  because  it  was  felt  that  the  treatment  of  such  a  subject  in 
a  handbook  like  this  is  necessarily  too  slight  to  be  of  any  value. 
The  remarks  in  the  present  chapter  will  probably  be  found  suffi- 


§4.] 


ETHICS   AND   METAPHYSICS. 


437 


may  understand  the  connection  better  by  noticing  the 
relation  of  art  to  religion.     Carlyle  was  fond  of  remind- 
ing us  of  the  connection  between  the  terms  *'  Worship  " 
and  *' Worthship."     What  we  worship  is  what  we  re- 
gard as  havmg  supreme  worth  or  value.     Religion,  in 
short,  like  art,  is  concerned  with  ideals.     But  while  the 
ideals  of  art  are  beautiful  objects  that  yield  an  imme- 
diate satisfaction,  the  ideals  of  religion  are  rather  objects 
that   are   regarded   as   having  supreme   and   ultimate 
worth.     In  their  immediate  aspect  they  may  have  *'no 
beauty  that  we  should  desire  them."     For  the  same 
reason  the  ideals  of  religion  must  be  regarded  as  /rue. 
Art,  aiming  at  an  immediate  satisfaction,  may  be  partly 
dream.     No  doubt,  if  it  is  to  be  great  art,  it  must  keep 
close  to  reality  ;  and  even  its   most  imaginative  crea- 
tions must  express  some  inner  truth  in  nature  or  in 
morals.     Indeed,  in  its  highest  forms  art  approaches 
very  closely  to  religion.     But  still  it  is  never  necessary 
that  the  creations  of  art  should  be  absolutely  true.     It 
is  enough  that  they  should  be  beautiful  suggestions  of 
truth.     Even  in  the  highest  regions  of  art,  such  a  work 
as  Shakespeare's  Tempest  has  no  literal  truth.    There 
are  no  Calibans  or  Ariels  ;  nor  is  it  necessary  for  our 
appreciation  of  the  play  that  we  should  actually  beheve 
that  there  are  any.     We  can  feel  the  whole  beauty  of 
it,  and  yet  be  well  aware  that  all  the  creations  in  it  are 
''such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of."     Religion,  on  the 
other   hand,   gives  us    ideals    which  are    regarded  as 
realities,  and  even  as  the   most   real   of  things.     The 
Homeric  gods,   as  depicted  in  the  poems,  are  poetic 
creations;  and   there   is   no  necessity    for   supposing 

ciently  intelligible  without  reference  to  the  preliminary  chapter  on 
Art. 


■ml' 


438 


ETHICS.         [concluding   CH. 


them  to  be  anything-  but  dreams — significant  dreams, 
no  doubt,  but  still  dreams.  As  worshipped  by  the 
Greek  people,  on  the  other  hand,  the  gods  were  neces- 
sarily regarded  as  realities.  Hegel,  indeed,  has  con- 
trasted the  Greek  with  the  Christian  religion,  by  saying 
that  the  gods  of  the  former  were  mere  creations  of  the 
imagination.^  This  is  partly  true.  The  Greeks  were 
an  artistic  much  more  than  a  religious  people ;  and 
their  gods  never  became,  in  any  complete  sense, 
definitely  establrshed  objects  of  belief.  But  just  to  this 
extent  they  remained  poetry  rather  than  religion.  So 
also  in  the  Christian  religion  there  are  many  mythical 
elements  which  have  been  made  subjects  of  poetry 
and  of  various  forms  of  artistic  representation.  We 
may  admire  the  paintings  of  Jesus  and  of  the  Virgin, 
and  feel  an  artistic  pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of 
them,  without  believing  that  they  are  anything  more 
than  beautiful  dreams.-     But  the  man  who  takes  Jesus 

J"  See  Wallace's  Logic  of  Hegel,  p.  233. 

2  No  doubt  there  are  stages  of  human  development  at  which  the 
distinction  here  indicated  is  scarcely  perceived.  To  the  Greeks,  for 
instance,  Homer  supplied  poetry,  philosophy,  and  religion  all  in 
one.  And  so,  no  doubt,  it  was  to  some  extent  in  the  great  ages  of 
Mediaeval  art.  At  such  periods  the  significance  of  art  for  a  nation's 
life  is  much  greater  than  it  is  after  the  three  provinces  have  been 
more  rigidly  divided.  "  However  excellent,"  says  Hegel, "  we  think 
the  statues  of  the  Greek  gods,  however  nobly  and  perfectly  God  the 
Father  and  Christ  and  Mary  may  be  portrayed,  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence, our  knees  no  longer  bend."  See  Bosanquet's  History  of 
^Esthetic,  p.  344,  and  cf.  Caird's  Hegel,  pp.  111-12.  Of  course,  the 
clearer  distinction  in  modern  times  between  art  and  philosophy  or 
religion  need  not  in  the  end  cause  our  art  to  be  less  perfect  or  less 
serious  than  that  of  the  ancient  world.  For  we  may  still  recognize 
that  art  is  the  best  expression  of  all  that  is  deepest  in  philosophy 
and  religion.  But  it  is  necessarily  dethroned  from  its  former  unique 
position.    Homer  and  Dante  may  have  been  treated  as  authorities : 


§5.] 


ETHICS  AND   METAPHYSICS. 


439 


as  a  supreme  object  of  worship  necessarily  regards  him 
as  real  and  as  the  greatest  of  realities. 

§  5.   The   Necessity   of    Religion.— Religion,    being 
thus  akin  to  art,  is  related  to  Ethics  in  somewhat  the 
same  way  as  art  is.     It  carries  us,  in  a  sense,  beyond 
the  moral  life,  by  raising  us  to  the  idea  of  a  sphere  of 
attainment  beyond  the  sphere  of  mere  struggle.     And 
this  it  does,  not,  like  art,  in  the  way  of  hint  and  sug- 
gestion, but  rather  in  the  way  of  definite  conviction. 
Such  convictions  are  a  necessity  of  man's  life— a  neces- 
sity partly  intellectual  and  partly  moral. »     Both  on  the 
intellectual  and  on  the  moral    side  this  necessity  may 
be  said  to  arise  from  a  consciousness  of  the  incom- 
pleteness and  inadequacy  of  our  experience.     On  the 
purely  intellectual  side  this  presents  itself  as  a  feeling 
of  wonder  at  the  inexplicable  in  nature.     Out  of  this 
wonder,  as  Plato  taught,  all  science  arises.     But  the 
imagination  outruns  science,  and  creates  explanations 
for  itself;  and  even  after   science  has  done  its  best, 
there   remains   a  sense   of  unexplained  mystery  into 
which  we  still  seek  to  press.     On  the  moral  side,  in 
like   manner,   there  is    a  sense    of  inadequacy  in  our 
ordinary  experience— a  want  of  completeness  in  our 
lives,  a  want  of  poetic  justice  in  our  fates.     It  is  chiefly 
on  this  side  that  religion  touches  on  Ethics.     But  even 
the   demand   for  intellectual  explanation  expresses   a 
moral  need.     It  is  the  desire  to  be  at  home  within  our 
universe,  and  not  to  be  confronted  at  every  turn  with 
alien  mysteries.     In  an  unintelligible  world  we  could 

Shakespeare  and  Goethe  are  regarded  only  as  exponents  2^ndilhistra. 
tors.    But  perhaps  they  have  gained  in  breadth  what  they  have  lost 
in  height.    Cf.  Bosanquet,  op.  cit.,  p.  469. 
1  See  Caird's  Philosophy  of  Religion,  chap.  iv. 


440 


ETHICS.         [concluding  CH. 


not  lead  a  moral  life,  because  we  should  not  know 
what  ends  to  propose  to  ourselves,  or  how  to  set  about 
realizing  them.'  Hence  even  when  the  imagination 
constructs  myths  to  explain  the  formation  of  the  clouds 
or  the  motion  of  the  sun,  it  is  indirectly  serving  mo- 
rality. It  saves  us  from  that  prosaic  abandonment  in 
which  the  higher  life  expires — that  state  in  which  as 
Wordsworth  complains,  '*  Little  we  see  in  nature  that 
is  ours.''  Natural  religions,  like  that  of  the  Greeks, 
save  us  in  some  measure  from  this.  They  enable  us 
in  the  presence  of  nature  to 

"  Have  glimpses  that  may  make  us  less  forlorn  ; 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea  ; 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn." 

Even  here,  then,  the  religious  imagination  comes  to 
the  aid  of  the  moral  life.  Still,  it  is  chiefly  in  so  far 
as  it  supplies  a  relief  from  the  inadequacy  of  the  moral 
life  itself  that  religion  touches  on  Ethics.  On  this 
aspect  we  must  now  look  a  little  more  closely. 

§  6.  The  Failure  of  Life. — Those  who  fix  their  at- 
tention  on  the  lives  of  individuals  have  always  suf- 
ficient ground  for  Pessimism.  Even  the  most  favoured 
human  beings  attain  only  a  small  part  of  what  they 
hope  ;  and  what  they  hope  is  generally  but  a  small 
part  of  what  they  would  wish  to  be  able  to  hope. 
And  a  large  proportion  of  the  human  race  scarcely 
seem  to  get  the  length  of  hope  at  all.     Nor  is  it  merely 

1  It  is  chiefly  for  this  reason  that  intellectual  scepticism  is  apt  to 
have  a  detrimental  effect  on  the  moral  life.  This  effect  was  strongly 
insisted  on  by  Plato,  and,  in  more  recent  times,  by  Carlyle.  Descartes 
also,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  intellectual  scepticism,  feit  the  need  of 
guarding  himself  against  its  moral  accompaniment.  See  his  Dis- 
course of  Method,  Part  HI.    Burke  also  emphasized  this  point. 


§7.1 


ETHICS  AND   METAPHYSICS. 


441 


that  the  average  individual  does  not  get  so  much  out 
of  life  as  he  could  wish.  The  apparent  unfairness  of 
fate  is  equally  galling.  Sometimes  the  sight  of  the 
wicked  flourishing  ''like  the  green  bay  tree"  offends 
the  moral  sense  even  more  than  the  failures  of  the 
righteous  ;  and  this  not  from  envy,  but  from  a  sense 

of  injustice. 

§  7.  The    Failure   of    Society.— Some    consolation 
may  be  found,  indeed,  for  the  failure  of  the  individual 
life  in  the  confidence  that  society  at  least  goes  on  ad- 
vancing.    But   the   progress   of  society   can    scarcely 
be  regarded  as  compensating    for   individual   failure. 
Society  is  not  an  entity  apart  from  the  individuals  who 
compose  it ;  and  if  the  individuals  fail,  society  cannot 
have  wholly  succeeded.     It  might  be  argued,  indeed, 
that  it  is  moving  towards  success,  towards  some  *'  far- 
off  divine  event."     Still  no  such  event  could  be  morally 
satisfactory  if  it  were  reached,  so  to  speak,  by  tramp- 
ling over  the  fallen  bodies  of  generations  of  men  who 
"all  died  not  having  received  the  promises."^      And 
even  the  poor  comfort  that  society  advances,  does  not 
seem  an  altogether  certain  hope.     In  nearly  all  ages 
wise  men  have  been  inclined  to  think  that  they  ar.d 
their  generation  were  no   better   than    their   fathers; 
and  even   if  we  can  on    the    whole    trace    a   line   of 
progress  through  the  lives  of  nations,  -  yet  progress 
has  many  receding  waves,"  -  and  in  nearly  every  case 
it  seems  to  be  followed  in  the  end  by  a  period  of  cor- 

1  This  point  is  strikingly  emphasized  in  Prof.  A.  Seth's  pamphlet 
on  The  Present  Position  of  the  Philosophical  Scieticesn^^T  the  end 
Cf  also  his  Hegelianism  and  Personality,  p.  228.  With  much  of 
what  is  said  in  both  these  places,  however,  I  do  not  agree. 

a  Sorley's  Ethics  of  Naturalism,  p.  272. 


V- 


442 


ETHICS.         [concluding  CH. 


ruption  and  decline.  And  even  such  progress  as  there 
is,  appears  only  to  lead  in  an  asymptotical  way  to 
the  goal  that  we  hope  for.  The  highest  civilizations 
that  have  ever  been  achieved,  have  been  accompanied 
by  corrupting  luxury  on  the  one  hand  and  degrading 
toil  and  misery  on  the  other  ;  and  there  has  never 
been  a  time  at  which  the  most  deeply  moral  natures 
have  not  been  made  to  feel  that,  in  some  important 
respects,  the  world  was  out  of  joint,  and  that  neither 
they  nor  any  others  were  born  to  set  it  right.  Is  there, 
it  may  well  be  asked,  any  sober  and  certain  ground  for 
supposing  that  it  will  ever  be  otherwise?  If  not,  we 
must  regard  society  as  having  failed,  just  as,  for  the 
most  part,  the  individual  life  is  perceived  to  fail. 

§  8.  The  Failure  of  Art. — Conscious  of  the  failure 
of  life  and  society,  many  of  the  finest  natures  have 
taken  refuge  in  art.  Matthew  Arnold,  in  one  of  the 
most  striking  of  his  poems,  ^  represents  Goethe  as 
turning  from  the  vain  strife  of  his  age,  after  having  ex- 
posed its  weaknesses,  and  proclaiming  to  his  contem- 
poraries as  their  last  resort—''  Art  still  has  truth,  take 
refuge  there."  And  indeed  in  the  same  poem  Matthew 
Arnold  describes  the  message  of  Wordsworth  to  his 
generation,  though  in  very  different  language,  as 
being  yet  substantially  the  same.  Seeing  the  folly 
and  confusion  of  the  actual  world  around  him,  he 
taught  his  age  to  set  it  aside,  and  seek  relief  in  feel- 
ing. But  this  is  a  somewhat  treacherous  refuge. 
"Art  for  Art's  sake"  is  a  shallow  doctrine  at  the  best.^ 
It  is  true  in   a  sense  that   art  is  play.     Ernst  ist  das 

1  Memorial  Verses. 

m 

2  See  Bosanquet's  History  of  .Esthetic,  p.  457. 


§8.] 


ETHICS  AND   METAPHYSICS. 


443 


Leben,  heiter  ist  die  Kunst.  ^  Men  may  seek  a  tem- 
porary relief  in  it  from  the  struggle  of  life ;  and  it 
may  be  a  not  unworthy  commendation  to  say  of  a 

great  poet — 

"  The  cloud  of  mortal  destiny, 
Others  will  front  it  fearlessly— 
But  who,  like  him,  will  put  it  by  ?" 

But  even  this  service  can  be  rendered  to  us  by  art 
only  so  long  as  it  is  believed  by  us  to  be  a  revelation 
of  a  deeper  truth  in  things.^     If  it  is  taken  merely  as 
art,  merely  as  a  beautiful  dream,  it  sinks  into  play, 
becomes  a  mere  refined  amusement,  and  loses  all  its 
real   power   over   the    human    spirit.  3      There    could 
hardly  be    any    worse   sign    of   an    age   than   that   it 
regards  art  as  a  mere  amusement,  as  a  mere  escape 
from  the  graver  problems  of  life.     In  the  great  ages 
of  art,  there  has  always  been  a  faith  behind  the  art— 
a  belief  that  it  symbolizes  truths  that  are  eternal,  and 
that  can  be  expressed,  though  with  an   unspeakable 
loss  of  adequacy  and  completeness,  in  sober  prose  *  as 
well  as  in  the  form  of  artistic  dreams.     Their  art  was, 
indeed,  in  a  sense,  play  ;  but  it  was  a  playful  mode 
of  giving   utterance  to  the  exuberance  of  a  nation's 
faith,  and  as  such  it  had  the  highest  beauty  and  value. 

1  "  Life  is  serious,  art  is  joyous.'-Schiller.  C/.  Bosanquet's  His- 
tory of  Esthetic,  p.  296. 

2  On  the  relation  of  Beauty  to  Truth,  see  Caird's  Essays  on  Litera- 
ture and  Philosophy,  vol.  i.,  pp.  54-^5,  I5i-I54.  &c. ;  and  of  Bosan- 
quet's  History  of  Esthetic,  pp.  336,  45M6o,  &c. 

8  "  We  cannot  give  the  name  of  sacred  poet  to  the  '  idle  smger  of 

an  empty  day,'  but  only  to  him  who  can  express  the  deepest  and 

widest  interests  of  human  life."— Caird,  loc.  oil,  p.  154-     ^f-  also 

Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  465-^- 
4  Dante  actually  gave  a  prose  interpretation  of  his  Dn'm^  Comedy. 


444 


ETHICS.         [concluding   CH. 


But  as  a  desperate  escape  from  scepticism  it  could  have 
no  such  worth.  Its  dreams,  if  they  were  supposed  to 
be  altogether  unreal,  would  only  make  the  emptiness 
of  life  the  more  conspicuous.*  We  might  still  feel  that 
they  were  beautiful ;  but  it  would  be  like  the  beautify- 
ing of  a  sepulchre  full  of  dead  men's  bones.  The  soul 
would  have  gone  out  of  them. 

§  9.  The  Demand  for  the  Infinite.  —  "Man's Unhap- 
piness,"  says  Carlyle,  ''comes  of  his  greatness.  It  is 
because  there  is  an  Infinite  in  him  which  with  all  his 
cunning  he  cannot  quite  bury  under  the  finite."  The 
ideal  unity  of  our  self-consciousness  demands  a  per- 
fectly harmonious  and  intelligible  universe  ;  and  this 
cannot  be  found  so  long  as  we  see  the  world  in  its 
finite  aspect,  as  a  series  of  isolated  events  set  over 
against  each  other.  Art  partly  breaks  down  this 
finitude,  and  lets  us  see  the  infinite  significance  of  it 
shining  through. ^  But  it  does  this  in  a  form  that  is 
not  quite  adequate  to  the  truth — a  form  that  is  partly 
playful ;  and  we  return   from  its  ideals   to   the  actual 

1  Some  suggestive  remarks  on  the  possibility  of  making  art  a  sub- 
stitute for  religion  will  be  found  in  Duhring's  Erzatz  der  Religion, 
pp.  106-111.    See  also  Caird's  Hegel,  pp.  37-8. 

2  Carlyle  says  {Heroes  and  Hero-Worship,  Lect.  III.)  that  music 
is  "a  kind  of  inarticulate  unfathomable  speech,  which  leads  us  to 
the  edge  of  the  Infinite,  and  lets  us  for  moments  gaze  into  that." 
Cf.  also  Caird's  Hegel,  pp.  112-114;  and  see  the  passage  quoted 
from  Hegel  in  Bosanquet's  History  of  Esthetic,  p.  361.  "  For  in  art 
we  have  to  do  with  no  mere  toy  of  pleasure  or  of  utility,  but  with 
the  liberation  of  the  mind  from  the  content  and  forms  of  the  finite, 
with  the  presence  and  union  of  the  Absolute  within  the  sensuous 
and  phenomenal,  and  with  an  unfolding  of  truth  which  is  not  ex- 
hausted in  the  evolution  of  nature,  but  reveals  itself  in  the  world- 
history,  of  which  it  constitutes  the  most  beautiful  aspect  and  the  best 
reward  for  the  hard  toil  of  reality  and  the  tedious  labours  of  know 
ledge." 


■i«^ 


•  • 


g  10.]  ETHICS  AND   METAPHYSICS.  445 

world  with  all  our  discontent  again— sometimes,  in- 
deed with  our  discontent  deepened  and  intensified. 
Art  reaches  its  intuitions  of  truth,  as  Browning  put  it, 
"at  first  leap  ; "  and  often,  when  reflection  supervenes, 
we  find  that  what  we  have  received  is  not  a  solution 
of  our  problems,  but  at  most  the  suggestion  of  a  solu- 
tion. What  we  require  is  an  ideal  which  shall  at  the 
same  time  be  absolutely  real. 

8  10   The  Two  Infinites.— Now  there  are  two  main 
forms  in  which  we  become  aware  of  the  infinite  as  a 
reality  within  our  experience-what  we  may  call  the 
purely  intellectual  form  and  the  moral  form.     These 
two  are  well  expressed  by  Kant  in  a  familiar  passage, 
in  which  he  slates  the  two  great  objects  of  reverence.' 
'•Two  things  fill  the  mind  with  ever  new  and  increas- 
ing admiration  and  awe,    the   oftener  and  the  more 
steadily  we  reflect  on  them  :  the  slurry  heavens  above 
and  the  moral  law  within.     I  have  not  to  search  for 
them  and  conjecture  them  as  though  they  were  veiled 
i„  darkness  or  were  in  the  transcendent  region  beyond 
my  horizon  ;  I  see  them  before  me  and  connect  them 
directly  with  the  consciousness  of  my  existence.     The 
former  begins  from  the  place  I  occupy  in  the  external 
world  of  sense,  and  enlarges  my  connection  therein  to 
an  unbounded  extent  with  worlds  upon  worlds  and  sys- 
tems of  systems The  second  begins  from  my  in- 
visible seif,  my  personality,  and  exhibits  me  in  a  world 
whi<4i  has  true  infinity,  but  -^ich  is  traceable  only  by 
the  understanding,  and  with  which  I  discern  that  I  am 

.■  conclusion  of  CHmue  of  Pra^cal  Rea^^  "{^^^T^i 
^^     n  i»Uo  Tanet's  Theory  of  Morals,  V»ook  111.,  cnap.  xu.,  wnc 
Ltho^^uSof  the  re,a«on  of  Ethics  to  Religion  is  treated  in 

a  suggestive  way. 


44^  ETHICS.         [CONCLUDING   CH. 

not  in  a  merely  contingent  but  in  a  universal  and  nec- 
essary connection.   .  .  .   The  former  view  of  a  countless 
multitude  of  worlds  annihilates  as  it  were  my  import- 
ance as  an  a7iimal  creature,  which  after  it  has  been  for 
a  short  time  provided  with  vital  power,  one  knows  not 
how,  must  again  give  back  the  matter  of  which  it  was 
formed  to  the  planet  it  inhabits  (a  mere  speck  in  the 
universe).     The   second,    on    the   contrary,    infinitely 
elevates  my  worth  as  an  intelligence  by  my  person- 
ality, in  which  the  moral  law  reveals  to  me  a  life  in- 
dependent on  animality  and  even  on  the  whole  sen- 
sible world,  at  least  so  far  as  may  be  inferred  from 
the  destmation  assigned  to  my  existence  by  this  law   a 
destination  not  restricted  to  conditions   and  hmits'of 
this  life,  but  reaching  into  the  infinite.''     These  two 
reverences,  separately  or  in  combination,  may  be  said 
to  furnish  the  basis  of  religious  worship.      When  the 
first  is  taken   alone,  it  gives  rise  to  Pantheism   or  to 
Agnosticism  :  when  the  second  is  taken  alone,  it  gives 
rise  to  Monotheism  or  to  the  Religion  of  Humanity 
When  the  two  are  combined,  we  have  a  more  com-    ' 
plete  form  of  religion. 

§  11.  The  First  Religion.— The  first  form  of  reve- 
rence, then,  in  which  the  demand  for  the  infinite  is 
recognized,  is  the  worship  of  Nature  in  the  boundless- 
ness of  its  extent  and  power.  In  its  crudest  form  this 
religion  is  summed  up  in  the  saying  that  ''  All  is  God  " 
This  form  of  worship  rises  very  naturally  in  our  minds 
when  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the  great 
elemental  forces  of  nature.  -  What  is  man,"  we  are 
then  tempted  to  exclaim,  -that  he  should  be  put  in 
comparison  with  the  infinity  of  the  material  universe  '  " 
This  point  of  view  is  materialistic,  and  is  scarcely  dis- 


'  "Wh*'^  !.»-«"«  «ri^*' 


g  12.] 


ETHICS   AND    METAPHYSICS. 


447 


tinguishable  from  Atheism.     It  is,  however,  a  super- 
ficial view.     The  infinity  which  is  reached  by  the  mere 
adding  on  of  an  endless  number  of  parts  is  what  Hegel 
called  "the  bad  infinite."     Such  an  infinity   is  in  no 
way  more  satisfying  to  our  minds  than  the  finite  is. 
The  mere  fact  that  we  cannot  get  to  an  end  of  a  thing 
does  not  add  anything  to  its  value.     The  blank  empti- 
ness of  space,  for  instance,  has  no  worth  for  us.     The 
deeper  Pantheism  is  distinguished  from  this  superficial 
one,  in  that  its  meaning  is  summed  up,  not  in  the  say- 
ing that  '*  All  is  God,"  but  that  *'God  is  all"—/,  e.  that 
the  finite  world  is  an  unreality,  and  that  the  ultimate 
reality  is  the  spiritual  power  behind  it.     This  view  is 
developed,  with  great  force  and  suggestiveness,  in  the 
Ethics  of  Spinoza. »     Since,   however,   it   rests  on  the 
mere  negation  of  the  finite,   it  ends  either  in  the  asser- 
tion of  blank  nothingness  as  the  ultimate  reality  (the 
Nirvana  of  the  Buddhists),  or  in  the  assertion  of  some 
ultimate  reality  of  which  nothing  can  be  known  (the 
Unknowable  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer).     This  infinity  of 
emptiness  is  in  the  end  quite  as  unsatisfactory  (both 
from  an  intellectual  and  from  a  moral  point  of  view)  as 
the  infinity  of  an  inexhaustible  aggregate. 

§  12.  The  Second  Religion.— The  second  religion  is 
the  worship  of  the  moral  law  in  the  absoluteness  of  its 
authority.  In  order,  however,  that  this  may  be  made 
an  object  of  reverence,  it  requires  to  be  regarded  as 
embodied  in  some  concrete  form.  The  simplest  form 
is  that  of  a  supreme  Law-giver,  as  in  the  religion  of 
the  Jews.  The  unsatisfactoriness  of  this  view  arises 
from  the  fact  that  such  a  Law-giver  has  to  be  thought 
of  as  external  to  that  to  which  he  gives  the  law.  He 
i  There  is.  however,  another  side  to  the  doctrine  of  Spinoza,  whicU 


448 


ETHICS.         [concluding   CH. 


deals  with  a  refractory  material.      He  requires,  there- 
fore, to  be  thought  of  as  in   some  sense  finite,'  being 
limited  by  a  world  outside.     Accordingly,  this  view 
leads   readily   to   Manicheism,  the  belief  in  an   infinite 
Devil  as  well  as  an   infinite  God.     Other  methods  of 
escape  are  (i)  to  say  frankly,  like  J.  S.  Mill,  that  God 
is  not  infinite  at  all,^  which  deprives  usof  that  supreme 
satisfaction  which  the  infinite  alone  can  give;  or  (2)  to 
abandon  the  idea  of  a  personal  God,  and  assert  only  a 
progressive  realization  of  the  moral  ideal.     This  latter 
resource  appears  in  the  Religion   of  Humanity,   insti- 
tuted by  Auguste  Comte,3  in  which  the  human  race  as 
a  whole  is  represented  as  a  Great  Being  struggling  for- 
ward against  the  opposing  tendencies  of  an  unintelli- 
gent and  unintelligible  nature.     A  similar  view  is  to  be 
found  in  Matthew  Arnold's  idea  of  a  ''Power,  not  our- 
selves, that  makes  for  righteousness."     The  inherent 
weakness  of  any  such  position  is  that  it  leaves  an  ir- 
reconcilable dualism  in  our  world.      Evil  is  left  unac- 
counted for,  and  we  have  no   assurance  that  it  will  be 
finally  overcome  with  good. 

§  13.  The  Third  Religion.— It  is  one  of  the  supreme 
merits  of  the  Christian  religion  that  it  combines  these 
two  infinites  so  completely.  The  God  of  Christianity 
is  conceived  at  once  as  the  infinite  Power  revealed  in 
nature,  and  as  the  source  and  end  of  the  moral  ideal.   It 

is  even  more  important  and  characteristic,  and  which  brings  it  into 
connection  rather  with  the  moral  point  of  view,  referred  to  in  the 
next  section.     The  same  may  be  said  of  Buddhism. 

1  In  which  case  this  view  would  become  identical  with  Mill's. 

a  A  similar  view  is  developed  in  a  recent  book  entitled  Riddles  oj 

the  Sphinx.  ■  ,  n,  -, 

«  For  an  account  and  criticism  of  this,  see  C^irds  Social  PhtlosQ. 

phy  and  Religion  of  Comic. 


§14.] 


ETHICS   AND    METAPHYSICS. 


449 


enables  men  to  see  in  the  world  outside  them  the  work- 
ing out  of  their  own  moral  aspirations,^  to  believe  that 
"  morality  is  the  nature  of  things/'  and  to  have  con- 
fidence, not  indeed  that  "  whatever  is,  is  right,"  but 
that  "  whatever  is  right,  is" — t.  e.  as  Carlyle  put  it, 
that  "the  soul  of  the  world  is  just,"  that  in  the  last 
resort  "the  Good"  (in  Plato's  phrase)  is  the  only 
reality.  Other  religions  have  partly  contained  this 
same  inspiring  faith  ;  but  Christianity  seems  to  bring  it 
out  most  clearly. 

§  14.  Religion  and  Superstition. — It  has  been  fre- 
quently noted  that  ages  of  religious  faith  tend  to  be 
rapidly  followed  by  times  of  doubt  and  disbelief.  The 
cause  of  this  is  not  far  to  seek.  The  religious  imagina- 
tion, as  we  have  already  remarked,  in  its  effort  after 
a  final  explanation  of  the  mysteries  of  things,  outruns 
science.  It  cannot  wait  for  the  plodding  processes 
of  reasoning  and  verification.  But  these  come  after- 
wards ;  and  when  they  come,  they  generally  find  that 
the  kernel  of  religious  truth  has  been  hastily  wrapped 
up  in  a  husk  of  superstition.  The  religions  of  the 
world  have  grown  out  of  the  buoyant  faith  of  some 
imaginative  and  impassioned  natures.  To  the  founders 
of  them  they  have  nearly  always  been  an  inextricable 
blending  of  truth  and  poetry.  ^     Those  who  came  after 


1  Beautifully  expressed  by  Browning — Epistle  from  Karshish — 

"  So  through  the  darkness  comes  a  human  voice, 
Saying — 'O  heart  I  made,  a  heart  beats  here,'"  &c. 

2  /.  e.  their  meaning  takes  the  form  of  an  image,  which  for  them 
is  inseparable  from  the  meaning.  As  the  Germans  say,  the  Begrijf 
(1.  e.  the  conception  or  meaning)  appears  in  the  form  of  a  Vorstellung 
(imaginative  representation).  Cf.  Wallace's  Logic  of  Hegel  (First 
Edition),  pp.  1-2,  and  Ixxxvii. — Ixxxix 

Eth.  29 


450 


ETHICS.         [concluding  CH. 


them  have  seldom  been  able  to  catch  just  that  point  of 
view  at  which  insight  passed  into  beauty.  The  poetry 
evaporates,  and  the  truth  does  not  remain.  The  happy 
intuition  becomes  a  miserable  creed  ;  and  the  beautiful 
images  that  clustered  round  it  turn  into  the  spectres  of 
superstition.  Then,  as  soon  as  another  man  of  real 
insight  arises,  the  hollowness  of  the  dogma  is  revealed, 
and  with  this  revelation  the  entire  religion  appears  to 
be  exploded.  The  gods  before  which  the  rapt  adora- 
tion of  saint  and  poet  once  knelt  become  mere  names 
that  serve  perhaps  only  to  give  gusto  to  an  oath. 

§  15.  The  Ethical  Significance  of  Religion. — What 
remains  essential  in  religion,  however,  is  the  convic- 
tion of  the  reality  of  the  moral  life  ;  and  this  convic- 
tion it  is  which  metaphysics  is  required  to  justify.  In 
other  words,  it  has  to  justify  the  belief  that  the  moral 
life  is  worth  living.  From  a  practical  point  of  view  we 
may  say  no  doubt  that  such  a  justification  is  hardly  re- 
quired. It  is  the  faith  which  is  inevitably  involved  in 
life  itself,  just  as  in  science  there  is  involved  the  faith 
that  the  world  can  be  seen  as  an  intelligible  system. 
In  a  stirring  article  entitled  "Is  Life  worth  Living?" 
Professor  James  remarks — "If  this  life  be  not  a  real 
fight,  in  which  something  is  eternally  gained  for  the 
universe  by  success,  it  is  no  better  than  a  game  of 
private  theatricals  from  which  one  may  withdraw 
at  will.  But  it  feels  like  a  real  fight  ;  "  and  he  con- 
cludes by  urging  that  our  attitude  on  this  matter  is 
necessarily  one  of  faith.  "Believe,"  he  says,  "that 
life  is  worth  living,  and  your  belief  will  half  create  the 
fact.  The  'scientific  proof  that  you  are  right  may 
not  be  clear  before  the  day  of  judgment  (or  some  stage 
of  Being  which  that  expression  may  serve  to  symbolize) 


§i6.] 


ETHICS   AND    METAPHYSICS. 


451 


is  reached.  But  the  faithful  fighters  oHhis  hour,  or  the 
beings  that  then  and  there  will  represent  them,  may 
then  turn  to  the  faint-hearted,  who  here  decline  to  go 
on,  with  words  like  those  with  which  Henry  IV. 
greeted  the  tardy  Crillon  after  a  great  victory  had  been 
gained:  *  Hang  yourself,  Crillon  !  we  fought  at  Arques, 
and  you  were  not  there.' " 

The  belief,  then,  that  the  moral  life  is  in  this  sense 
real  may  be  said  to  be  the  essential  significance  of 
religion  ;  and  without  some  such  belief  the  moral  life 
is  hardly  possible  at  all.  In  all  spheres  of  thought, 
however,  the  human  intellect  demands  proof;  and  the 
proof  of  this  particular  point  can  only  be  found  in 
metaphysics. 

§  16.  The  Ultimate  Problems  of  Metaphysics. — We 
thus  see  how  it  is  that  the  science  of  Ethics  is  incom- 
plete in  itself,  and  stretches  out  its  hands  to  metaphysics. 
But  in  a  sense  this  is  true  of  all  science,  and  we  may 
even  say,  of  all  art.  All  positive  science  rests  on 
the  belief  that  the  world  can  be  seen  as  an  intelligible 
system,  and  this  belief  cannot  be  justified  except  by 
metaphysical  inquiry.  All  fine  art,  in  like  manner,  at 
least  in  its  higher  and  more  serious  forms,  may  be  said 
to  rest  upon  the  conviction  that  "  Beauty  is  Truth,"  that 
the  point  of  view  from  which  the  beautiful  is  appre- 
hended is  a  point  of  view  which  grasps  a  more  essen- 
tial form  of  actuality  than  that  which  appears  in  mere 
existence.  Similarly,  the  moral  point  otview  involves 
the  conviction  that  Good  is  more  real  than  Evil,  that 
the  moral  ideal  has  a  higher  actnality  ^  than  the  exist- 

1  In  so  far  as  such  a  point  of  view  as  that  here  indicated  can  be 
adopted,  the  Ideal  becomes  transformed  into  the  Idea  (in  the  sense 
in  which  that  term  was  used  by  Plato  and  Hegel)—/,  e.  instead  of 


452 


ETHICS.         [concluding   CH. 


ing  world  as  it  appears  to  the  ordinary  consciousness 
of  mankind. 

How  this  can  be  established  by  metaphysical  reflec- 
tion it  is  not  our  business  here  to  inquire.  It  may  be 
possible,  as  in  the  system  of  Hegel,  to  show  that  "the 
actual  is  rational,  and  the  rational  is  actual  ; "'  or  again, 
it  may  only  be  possible,  as  in  the  view  of  Bradley,  to 
show  that  the  moral  point  of  view  contains  a  higher 
**  degree  of  reality  "  than  that  to  which  it  is  opposed. 
Or  it  may  be  that  we  are  left  in  a  purely  agnostic  posi- 
tion. Such  questions  could  not  be  answered  here 
except  in  a  purely  dogmatic  fashion,  and  a  dogmatic 
answer  is  of  course  worse  than  none.  It  is  enough  for 
us  to  have  indicated  where  the  ultimate  problem  lies  ; 
and  to  have  shown  that  Ethics,  regarded  as  a  separate 
science,  is  not  complete  in  itself.' 

being  thought  of  teleologically,  as  the  end  or  standard  by  which  we 
are  guided  in  the  realization  of  the  moral  life,  it  would  be  regarded 
rather  as  the  underlying  principle  by  which  reahty  itself  is  deter- 
mined, in  the  process  by  which  its  inner  significance  is  gradually 
unfolded.  Thus,  from  the  point  of  view  of  religion,  or  of  a  meta- 
physical system  such  as  that  of  Plato  or  Hegel,  the  distinction 
between  the  Ideal  and  the  Actual  vanishes.  The  term  Idea,  ex- 
presses in  this  sense  (which  must  be  carefully  distinguished  from 
its  use  by  Descartes,  Locke,  Berkeley,  Hume,  &c.),  the  point  of 
view  from  which  this  transcendence  of  the  opposition  takes  place. 
But  it  would  obviously  be  far  beyond  the  scope  of  such  a  work  as 
this  to  consider  whether  this  point  of  view  can  be  justified.  It  would 
require  a  complete  metaphysical  system  to  deal  with  it. 

1  Metaphj-^sics  is  a  subject  which  it  is  hardly  worth  while  for  any 
one  to  take  up  unless  he  intends  to  study  it  thoroughly.  The  student 
who  takes  it  up  in  this  way  will  soon  find  that  the  writer  who  is 
most  important  at  the  present  time  is  Hegel.  A  popular  introduc- 
tion to  Hegel  has  been  written  by  Dr.  Edward  Caird  {Blackwood's 
Philosophical  Classics);  and  Professor  Wallace  has  also  written 
valuable  Prolegomena  to  his  Translation  of  the  Logic  and  the  Philo- 
sophy of  Mind.    The  best  introduction  to  Hegel  in  English  is,  how- 


§  i6.] 


ETHICS   AND    METAPHYSICS. 


453 


ever,  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant,  where  ihe  transition  from 
Kant  to  Hegel  is  explained  with  the  greatest  thoroughness  and 
clearness.  Mr.  McTaggarfs  Studies  in  Hegelian  Dialectic  and  the 
Prefatory  Essay  to  Dr.  Bosanquet's  translation  of  the  Introduction 
to  Hegel's  Aesthciik  may  also  be  found  helpful.  As  a  more  ele- 
mentary introduction  to  the  study  of  Metaphysics,  Watson's  Comte, 
Mill  and  Spencer  may  be  recommended,  with  some  slight  reserva- 
tions ;  and,  for  still  more  elementary  purposes,  Mr.  W.  M.  Salter's 
First  Steps  in  Philosophy  may  be  mentioned.  With  special  reference 
to  the  more  religious  aspect  of  the  subject,  Caird's  Evolution  of 
Religion  will  be  found  exceedingly  instructive.  Mr.  Bradley's  Ap- 
pearance and  Reality  is  the  most  important  attempt  at  a  metaphysical 
construction  in  English.  It  is  largely,  but  not  eniirely  in  harmony 
with  the  Hegelian  system.  But  perhaps  it  must  still  be  sorrowfully 
admitted,  as  it  was  by  Kant,  that  "  Metaphysics  is  undoubtedly  the 
most  difficult  of  sciences  ;  but  it  is  a  science  that  has  not  yet  come 
into  existence." 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  ON  ETHICAL  LITERATURE. 


The  chief  function  of  such  a  handbook  as  this  must  be,  like  that 
of  Goldsmith's  village  preacher,  to  "  allure  to  brighter  worlds  and 
lead  the  way."  The  "  brighter  worlds "  in  this  case  are  the  works  of 
the  great  masters  of  the  science.  To  these  frequent  references  have 
been  given  throughout  this  sketch  ;  but  it  may  be  worth  while  now  to 
make  a  few  general  remarks  upon  them,  and  to  indicate  the  order 
in  which  they  may  be  most  profitably  read.  The  precise  order  in 
which  they  should  be  taken  will  of  course  depend  partly  on  indi- 
vidual taste,  and  partly  on  the  amount  of  time  at  the  student's 

disposal. 

For  the  majority  of  readers,  I  believe  that  Mill's  Utilitarianism 
will  be  found  one  of  the  most  easy  and  interesting  books  to  begin 
upon  ;  and  it  will  give  a  good  general  impression  of  the  Hedonistic 
point  of  view.  If  thought  desirable,  the  concluding  chapter  on 
Justice  may  be  omitted  on  a  first  reading.  The  study  of  the  whole 
book  may  be  accompanied  by  a  reference  to  the  criticisms  contained 
in  Sidgwick's  Methods  of  Ethics. 

Portions  of  Kant  ought  also  to  be  read  at  an  early  date.  The 
student  will  soon  find  that  modern  Ethics,  like  modern  Philosophy 
generally,  turns  largely  upon  him.  The  first  two  sections  of  the 
Mctaphysic  of  Moral  (to  be  found  in  Abbott's  Kant's  Theory  of 
Ethics)  will  be  found  comparatively  easy,  even  by  students  who 
have  not  read  anything  on  Metaphysics,  and  will  convey  a  fair  un- 
derstanding of  Kant's  general  position  :  but  it  is  difficult  to  proceed 
far  in  Kant's  ethical  system  without  some  knowledge  of  his  meta- 
physical principles.! 

The  student  who  has  mastered  the  general  principles  of  Mill  and 
Kant  will  have  a  fair  idea  of  the  bases  of  the  Utilitarian  and  the 


1  Those  who  are  prepared  to  go  fully  into  Kant's  point  of  view 
will  find  invaluable  aid  in  Caird's  Critical  Philosophy  of  Kant, 

455 


456 


APPENDIX. 


Idealistic  systems  of  morals.  Those  who  wish  to  go  more  fully  into 
the  modern  developments  of  these  points  of  view  must  read  Sidg- 
wick's  Methods  of  Ethics  and  Green's  Prolegomena.  Of  these  two, 
Green's  is  the  more  difficult  to  understand,  on  account  of  his  strongly 
metaphysical  point  of  view.  Muirhead's  Elements  of  Ethics,  how- 
ever, will  give  the  student  great  assistance  in  following  the  line  of 
Green's  argument. 

Sidgwick's  book  has  the  advantage  of  supplying  the  student  not 
only  wMth  the  best  statement  of  the  modern  Utilitarian  point  of  view, 
but  also  with  the  best  criticism  of  Intuitionism.  For  a  statement  of 
the  Intuitionist  point  of  view  by  one  of  its  own  adherents,  reference 
maybe  made  to  Martineau's  Types  of  Ethical  Theory.  An  element- 
ary student,  however,  would  probably  find  this  book  somewhat 
confusing. 

The  chief  books  written  from  the  Evolutionist  point  of  view  are 
Spencer's  Data  of  Ethics,^  Stephen's  Science  of  Ethics  and  Alex- 
ander's Moral  Order  and  Progress.^  Each  of  these  possesses  spe- 
cial merits  of  its  own.  Mr.  Alexander's  book  seems  to  me  the  most 
profound  of  the  three  ;  but  for  this  very  reason  it  may  perhaps  be 
the  most  difficult  for  an  elementary  student.  Mr.  Stephen's  book, 
being  by  a  man  of  letters,  is  written  in  remarkably  clear  and 
vigorous  English,  and  will  probably  be  found  the  most  pleasant  to 
read.  It  is  also  in  some  respects  the  most  suggestive.  Mr.  Spencer's 
work  has  the  advantage  of  forming  part  of  a  complete  and  compre- 
hensive speculative  system ;  and  the  way  in  which  he  connects 
Ethics  with  the  various  other  departments  of  knowledge  gives  his 
book  a  peculiar  interest  and  stimulating  power,  especially  perhaps 
for  young  students.  Otherwise,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  so  satisfac- 
tory as  the  work  of  either  of  the  other  two. 

While,  however,  the  more  recent  books  will  naturally  have  a  cer- 
tain attraction  for  the  student,  he  ought  not  to  neglect  the  older 
masterpieces.  Plato's  Republic  and  Aristotle's  Ethics^  are  still  in 
many  respects  the  greatest  works  on  Ethics  that  we  possess  ;  and 


1  Now  Part  I.  of  The  Principles  of  Ethics. 

2  Chapters  v.  and  vi.  in  Darwin's  Descent  of  Man  may  also  be 
referred  to.  But  the  treatment  of  this  subject  there  is  slight  and 
superficial. 

"  In  connection  with  these,  Bosanquet's  Companion  to  PlatSs  Re- 
public and  Muirhead's  Chapters  from  Aristotle  s  Ethics  may  be  used. 
See  also  the  Commentaries  by  Nettleship  and  Stewart. 


NOTE   ON   ETHICAL   LITERATURE. 


457 


ev-ry  serious  student  ought  to  read  them  at  as  early  a  pomt  m  his 
course  as  he  finds  possible.    Spinoza's  Ethics  is  a  very  difficult  book, 
and  can  only  be  fully  appreciated  by  an  advanced  student  of  Meta- 
physics 1    The  same  remark  is  on  the  whole  true  of  Hegel's  Philoso- 
\hie  des  Rechts-2.  great  book  of  which  at  last  there  is  a  tolerable 
translation    Some  of  the  most  important  points  in  Hegel's  system  are, 
however  reproduced  in  a  simple  and  interesting  form  in  Dewey's 
Oxdlines  of  a  Critical  Theory  of  Ethics.^    Bradley's  Ethical  Studies 
also  represents  the  Hegelian  point  of  view  ;  but  this  most  mterest- 
ing  and  stimulating  work  is  unhappily  out  of  print.3    Among  other 
works  of  historical  importance,  which  the  student  may  profitably 
read    may   be  mentioned    Butler's   Sermons  and  Dissertation  II. 
("Of  the  Nature  of  Virtue"),  Hume's  Treatise  on  Human  Nature, 
Books  H  and  III,  or  Dissertation  on  the  Passions  ^nd  Inquiry  con- 
cerning the  Principles  of  Morals,  Adam  Smith's  Theory  of  Moral  Sen- 
timent  Bcnih^ims  Principles  of  Morals  and  Legislation,  Bacons  De 
Augmenlis,  Books  VH.  and  VHI.,  and  Hobbes's  Leviathan.* 


1  Students  who  desire  to  read  Spinoza  will  derive  great  assistance 
from  Principal  Caird's  excellent  monograph  in  Blackwood  s  "  Philo- 
sophical Classics."    Those  who  read  German  will  find  his  whole 
system  expounded  very  fully  and  with  extraordinary  clearness  and 
brilliancy  in  Kuno  Fischer's  Geschichtc  dcr  neuern  Philosophic,  I.,ii. 
For  a  shorter  account,  students  may  be  referred  to  the  article  on 
>  -  Cartesianism "    in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica.     Spinoza,  as  a 
Vure  Determinist,  and  as  one  who  wholly  excludes  the  conception 
of  ideals  or  of  final  causes,  may  be  said  to  begin  by  denying  the 
possibility  of  Ethics.     He  treats  it  as  a  positive  or  natural  history 
science,  not  as  a  normative  science.    Cf.  above,  p.  92.  not^  i.    But  as 
he  goes  on  with  the  development  of  his  system,  he  is  led,  in  spite  of 
himself,  to  admit  the  conception  of  an  ideal  or  end  in  human  life, 
and  even  of  a  certain  "  immanent  finality  "  in  nature.    This  point  is 
well  brought  out  by  Principal  Caird  {op.  at.,  pp.  270,  304). 

2  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  History  (translated  in  Bohn's  Series)  will 
also  be  found  very  interesting. 

3  Bosanquet's  Civilization  of  Christen  do  m-a.  collection  of  Essays 
on  Applied  Ethics-is  also  written  from  this  point  of  view. 

4  A  fairly  complete  list  of  important  English  works  on  Ethics, 
arranged  according  to  schools,  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  Muir- 
liead's  Elements  of  Ethics, 


458 


APPENDIX. 


Many  other  useful  books  might  be  mentioned.    Students  who 
read  German  will   find   Paulsen's  System    der  Ei/iik,^    Hoffding's 
Ethik,  Wundt's  Etliik,  and  Simmel's  Einlcitung  in  die  Moralwissen- 
schafUoi  the  greatest  value.2  In  French,  the  writings  of  Guyau  and 
Fouille'e  will  be  found  particularly  suggestive  :  Simon's  Dti  Devoir 
and  Renouvier's  La  Science  Morale  may  also  be  referred  to.    For 
Social    Ethics    Comte's    Politique    Positive  is   invaluable »     I  may 
also  mention  Sorley's  Ethics  of  Natural  ism  ^   Fowler's   Progressive 
Morality,  Clifford's  Lectures  and  Essays  (containing  some  extremely 
suggestive   points),  Lotze's   Practical  Philosophy ,  Janet's  Theory  of 
Morals,  Royce's  Religious  Aspect  of  Philosophy,  Edgeworth's  Mathe- 
matical Psychics  and    Xew  and   Old  Methods  of  Ethics.    In    the 
History  of  Ethics,  in  addition  to  Sidgwick's  History  of  Ethics  and  to 
the  short  statements  contained  in  General  Histories  of  Philosophy 
(e.  g.  Erdmann's,  Zeller's,  and  Kuno  Fischer's),  reference  may  be 
made   to   Lecky's  History  of  European  Morals,  to   Stephen's  English 
Thought  in  the  Eighteenth  Century,  and  (for  readers  of  German)  to 
Ziegler's  Ethik  der  Griechen  und  RSmermind  Geschichtc  der  Christ- 
lichen  Ethik,  and  to  Jodl's  Geschichte  der  iieuern  Ethik.     C.  M.  Wil- 
liams's  recent  work    on  Evolutional  Ethics  will   be  found  useful 
with  reference  to  that  particular  school.     Notices  of  current  litera- 
ture on  the  subject,  as  well  as   discussions   on  particular  points, 
will  be  found  from  time  to  time  in  the  pages  of  Mind,  of  the  Philo- 
sophical Review,  and  of  the  International  Journal  of  Ethics. 


'  This  is  particularly  valuable  on  the  side  of  Applied  Ethics. 

'•^  The  last-named  is  almost  purely  critical. 

2  For  a  summary  of  Comte's  point  of  view,  see  Caird's  Social 
Phdosophy  and  Religion  of  Comte.  For  the  history  of  social  Ethics 
before  Comte,  reference  may  be  made  to  Janet's  Histoire  de  la 
Science  Politique ;  also  to  the  same  writer's  Philosophie  de  la  Revolu- 
tion francaise,  Saint-Simon  et  le  Saint-Simonisme,  and  Les  Origines 
du  Socialisme  contemporain.  See  also  Mohl's  Geschichte  und  Litera- 
tiir  der  Staatswissenschaftcn. 

*  Containing  extremely  valuable  criticisms  of  the  Utilitarian  and 
Evolutionist  schools. 


INDEX. 


ABBOTT,  T.  K. :  referred  to, 
192,  344. 
Act:  will  and,  54-7. 

resolution  and,  398-9. 

crime  and,  398-9. 

Action:  reflection  and,  109  384-6. 

—  nature  of  voluntary,  98-lOU. 
Actions  :  as  lies,  189,  338. 

—  and  motives,  65,  388. 

_  as  dependent  on  character,  407. 

—  and  remorse,  408. 

Activity :  involved  in  morality ,14. 
Adiustment :  in  relation  to  morals 

and  science,  239  seq. 
Adler :  referred  to,  349,  374. 
^:sthetic8    and    Ethics,    12,    16, 

28-30,  177  seq. 
Alexander  :    on  natural  selection 

in  morals,  243  seq. 

—  on  good  conduct,  245-6. 

—  on  duties,  333. 

__  on  virtue  and  duty,  343-4. 
_  on  the  relation  of  the  virtues 
to  social  institutions,  3o2. 

—  on  vices  as  old  virtues,  394. 
Altruism:  and  Egoism,  293. 

_  conciliation   of,  with   Egoism 

(Spencer),  293-4. 
Animals:  conduct  in,  85,  105-b. 

—  incapable  of  higher  sins,  41o. 

—  moral  judgment  in,  114. 
__  relation  to  men,  424-5. 

—  spontaneity  of,  94. 
Appetite  :  and  Want,  44  seq. 

—  and  desire,  46  seq.,  248. 
Aristotle:  on  moral  activity,  14. 


Aristotle  :  on  the  Good  Will,  16.  ^ 
_  on  Ethics  and  Pohtics,  32. 
_  definition  of  the  Good,  44. 

—  on  motive,  64. 

_  on  good  habit  and  the  good 
man,  84,  88.        „     .  .  , 

_  on  the  relation  of  virtue  and 
knowledge,  88. 

—  view  of  Ethics,  152,  296. 

—  on  practical  utility  of  Ethics, 

on  virtue  as  a  mean,  <5o». 

—  list  of  virtues,  358-9,  372-3. 

—  on  changing  of  character,  367. 

—  *  *  practical  syllogism,     3  <  U . 
_  definition  of  virtue,  371. 

—  on  the  contemplative  lite,  384, 

387 

—  referred  to,  3,  46,  53   89   92, 

268,  272,  284,  288,  291,  295, 
318,  329,  331    394,  456. 

Arnauld:  quoted  (on  rest;,  373. 

Arnold,  Matthew:    on  Conduct, 

17. 

—  definition  of  religion,  433-6. 

—  on  art  as  truth,  442. 

—  and  a  ''power  not  ourselves, 
that    makes    for    righteous- 


ness. 


11 


448. 


Ai-t:  and  Science,  11-12. 
-  morality  a  fine,  12  seq.,  28-30. 

—  relation  to  religion,  436  seq. 

—  the  failure  of,  442-4. 
Ascetic  principle  :    Bentham  on, 

205. 
Asceticism,  383-4. 

459 


460 


INDEX. 


Atheism,  447. 

Attainment ;  proffressive  and  catas- 
trophic, 79  seq. 
Authority,  255  seq. 

■gACKSLIDING,  307. 

Bacon  :  referred  to,  365. 
Bain,  Prof. :  referred  to,  68. 
Beautiful  souls,  29-30,  382-3 
Beautiful,   the:    and   the   Good 

177-8. 
Beauty,  28-30,  177-8. 
Bentham :  on  pleasure  and  pain, 

67. 

—  his  life,  159-160. 

—  on    "the   Ascetic   Prir>ciDle  " 

205.  ^    ' 

—  confused  egoistic  and  univor- 

salistic  hedonism,  2U. 

—  his  view  of  "ought,"  213. 

—  on  value  of  pleasures,  214. 

—  doggerel      on      qualities      of 

pleasures,  215. 

—  discarded  the  expression   *'of 

the  greatest  number,"  222. 

—  on  ^nal  and  efficient  cause  of 

human  action,  261-2. 

—  on  sanctions,  259,  261-4, 

Biology,  26-7,  235  seq. 

B»lanc,  Louis:  referred  to,  315. 

Blessedness:  term  for  the  satis- 
faction of  higher  desires, 
227. 

Bosanquet:  on  Moral  Ideas 
and  Ideas  about  Morality. 
110. 

—  on  "the  scholars  erolden  rule  " 

363. 

—  referred  to,  87,  113,  274,  444 

453. 

Bradley,  F.  H. :  what  pleasure  is, 
224. 

—  on  personal  opinions  as  self- 

conceit,  355. 

—  on  being  a  whole,  367. 

—  referred  to,  67,  170,  203,  274, 

346,  354,  453. 
Prowne,  Sir  T. :  quoted,  196, 


Browning:    quoted    on   art,    16 
139. 

—  on  chnnge  of  un'.verse,  251. 

—  on     education    of     character. 

368. 

—  on  estimate  of  an  individual. 

84,  385,  401.  ' 

—  on  intuitions  of  art,  445. 

—  on  religion,  449. 

—  referred  to,  362. 

Bryant,  S.  :  referred  to,  on  edu- 
cation,  34. 

—  on  fortitude,  361. 

Bryce,  J.  :  quoted,  115,  207-8. 
Buckle:  referred  to,  401,  426. 
Hiiddha  :  referred  to,  390. 
Buddhists  :  referred  to,  447. 
Burke:  quoted,  356,  411. 
Burns:  quoted,  136. 
Butler,  J.  :  on  conscience,  182 5f<y 
185,  266-8. 

—  on  objects  and  desires,  71. 

—  on  authority,  257,  267. 

—  on  self-love,  267. 

nAIRD,  E.:  on  Kant,  159. 
^^     —  on  art,  443. 

—  referred  to,  452-3,  455. 
Caird,  Princ.  J. :  referred  to,  52 

457. 
Calculus  of  pleasure,  229. 
Capacity  and  act,  14. 
Carlyle :  his  view  of  Economics, 

12. 

—  on  character  as  an  inheritance. 

102. 

—  on  blessedness  and  happiness. 

227. 

—  on  a  clear  conscience,  304. 

—  on  slavery,  318. 

—  his  commandment,  339,  346. 

—  on  the  unconscious  as  the  only 

complete,  375. 

—  on  know  thyself,  385. 

—  on  crime  and  act,  399. 

—  on  birth  of  heroes,  412. 

—  on  '  Progress  of  the  Species,' 

416, 


INDEX. 


461 


Carlyle :  on  greatness  and  melan- 
choly, 429. 

—  on  worship,  437. 

—  on  greatness  and  unhappiness, 

444. 

—  on  music,  444. 

—  "  the  soul  of  the  world  is  just," 

449. 

—  referred  to,  172,  256,  269,  322, 

376,  383,  392. 

—  quoted,  396. 
Cartesians,  153,  268. 
Casuistry,  339-41. 
Categorical  imperative,  169  seq. 
Categories,  188. 

Cause,  final  and  efficient,  62. 

—  Bentham  on,  261-2. 
Celibacy,  200. 

Chalmers,  Dr.  :  referred  to,  368. 
Character,  83-4. 

—  Novalis  on,  57. 

—  of  women  :  Pope  on,  58,  396. 

—  as  object  of  the  moral  judg- 

ment, 137-8. 

—  respect  for,  335-6. 

—  education  of,  366  seq. 

—  a  weak,  395. 

—  of  great  strength,  396. 

—  development  of,  400. 

—  in  relation  to  action,  407. 
Children  :  quasi-Tights  of,  425. 
Christ:  referred  to,  390,  391. 
Christian  Ethics,  297-8. 
Christianity,  30. 

Christian  love,  363-4. 

Church  :  the,  324. 

Circumstance,  85-8. 

Civilization :  the  product  of  vir- 
tues and  vices,  411. 

Clarke,  154,  175. 

Clifford,  W.  K.  :  the  "tribal 
self,"  115-6,  305. 

—  on  conscience,  117-8. 
Code  of  honour,  8,  342. 
Coit,  Dr.  S.,148. 
Commandments,  8,  332. 

—  relation  to  the  virtues,  352-3. 

—  the  Jewish,  121,  352. 

—  what  they  are,  365-6. 


Common  sense  ethics,  183  seq. 
Community:  of  goods,  317. 

—  the  civic,  323-4. 
Comte,  Auguste,  113,  448. 
Conduct,  1-2,  58. 

—  a  fine  art,  12,  14  seq. 

—  the  whole  of  life,  17. 

—  definition  of,  84-5. 

—  Spencer's  view  of,  85. 

—  evolution  of ,  104  s^^. 

—  germs  of,  in   lower   animals, 

105-7. 

—  among  savages,  107. 

—  guidance  of,  by  custom,  108. 
,  by  law,  108. 

,  by  ideas,  108-9. 

—  as  object  of  the  moral  judg- 

ment, 135. 

—  rules  of,  349-50. 

—  sanctions  of,  260. 

—  and  emotion,  433  seq. 
Conscience,  146,  186,  198. 

—  origin  of,  117-8. 

—  individual,  as  moral  standard, 

122-3. 

—  law  of,  182  seq. 

—  as  sanction,  264. 

—  authority  of,  265-8. 

—  and  the  social  unity,  303  seq. 

—  mystery  of,  304. 

—  pain  of,  304. 

—  attached  to  the  highest  system 

of  things,  305. 

—  quasi-,  305-6. 

—  stifling  of,  307. 

—  "case  of,"  341. 
Conscientiousness,  376. 

—  over-much,  389. 
Consistency,  170,  191  seq. 
Contract :  right  and  obligation  of, 

318-9. 

—  "  from  status  to,"  318. 

—  "social,"  318. 
Conventional  rules,  342-3. 
Conversion,  375. 
Corruption:  social,  411. 
Cosmopolitan,  297.  ^ 

Courage :  a  Greek  virtue,  353  seq,, 
420. 


462 


INDEX. 


Courage :   a  cardinal  virtue,  360 

seq.,  372. 
Crime,  401-2. 

—  as  evidence  of  insanity,  305. 
Custom,  1,  107-8,  343. 

—  as  the  moral  standard,   119- 

120. 
Cyrenaics:  and  Cynics,  151. 

—  and  Egoistic  Hedonism,  215. 

"TJANTE  :  referred  to,  438,  443. 
-*-^  Darwin  :  referred  to,  85,  242. 
Decisiveness     and     perseverance 

as  virtues,  362,  364,  372. 
Democritus,  148. 
Descartes :  referred  to,  153,  389, 

440. 
Desirable  :  ambiguity  of,  213. 
Desire  :  general  nature  of,  43  seq. 

—  and  appetite,  46-7. 

—  universe  of,  47-9. 

—  and  wish,  52-3. 

—  and  pleasure,  67-9,  79-82. 

—  the  object  of,  69  scq. 

—  "disinterested,"  72. 

—  imaginative     satisfaction     of, 

81-2. 

—  higher  and    lower    forms   of, 

208-9. 

—  satisfaction   of,    is  happiness, 

209-210. 
Desires  :  conflict  of,  49-51. 

—  not  for  pleasure,  73-4. 

—  satisfaction  of,  209-210. 
Determinists,  94. 

—  and  crime,  407. 
Devns,  C.  S.,  33. 
Development :  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness, 111-2. 

—  general  nature  of  moral,  126. 

—  of  life,  235. 

—  higher  and  lower    views    of, 

235-6. 

—  of  moral  life,  236. 

—  explanation  of,  237  seq. 
Devil,  the  :  an  ass,  15. 
Dewey,  J. :    conflict  of  desires, 

51-2. 


Dewey,  J. :  on  motives,  65. 

—  on  actions  of  animals,  95. 

—  on  the  good  artisan,  347. 

—  referred  to,  203,  359. 
Discipline :    value  of   ascetic, 

367. 
Diihring  :  referred  to,  248. 
AiVa^cty,  14. 
Duties :     my     station     and    its, 

346-8. 
Duty,  162  seq. 
Duty  :  happiness,  perfection  and, 

159-1<)0. 

—  of  perfect  and  imperfect  obli- 

gation, 343  scq. 

—  and  virtue,  345,  352. 

—  and  work,  346-7. 

—  paradox  of,  373. 

I^DUCATION:   right  and  ob- 
^     ligation  of,  319. 

—  of  character,  366  s^q. 

—  and  psychology,  366. 

—  moral,  369. 

—  punishment  as  agent  of,  404. 
Egoism  :  and  altruism,  293. 

—  conciliation  of,  with  altruism, 

293  seq. 

Egoistic  hedonism,  215-8. 

Eliot,  George :  on  the  highest 
happiness,  233. 

Emancipation  of  slaves  :  and  mo- 
rality, 426-8. 

Emerson :  on  self-consistency, 
170. 

—  quoted,  91,  247,  387,  415. 
End,  2-4. 

—  idea  of,  85. 

—  as  self -realization,  233. 

—  perfection   rathor    than    hap- 

piness, 233. 
'Rvipyeia,  14. 
Environment:     change    of,    and 

moral  change,  426-8. 
Epicureans  :  identified  virtue  with 

happiness,  206. 

—  and  egoistic  hedonism,  216. 
Ethical  hedonism,  212. 


INDEX. 


463 


Ethical  hedonism,  general  mean- 
ing of,  214  seq. 
Ethos  of  a  people,  354-7. 

—  the  universal,  354. 
Evils:  use  of,  401-2. 
Evolution:  of  conduct,  104  seq. ^ 

—  its  application  to  morals,  2^4-5. 

—  and  theory  of  ethics,  235,  280 

seq. 

—  and  Spencer's  ethical  theory, 

237-241,  247. 

—  social,  413-6. 

Evolutionists:  on  ethics,  241  seq. 
Example  :  influence  of,  366. 
Exceptions,  199. 
Exploitation :  of  the  poor,  412. 

FACTS  and  rules,  5-8. 
Failure:  of  life,  440-1. 

—  of  society,  441-2. 
Fairbanks,  Prof.  A.,  113. 
Faith,  429-30,  451-2. 
Family :  the,  320. 

violation  of  the  sanctities  of : 

forbidden,  337. 
Fanaticism,  57,  136-7,  185. 
Faults:  as  moral  agents,  387. 
Feeling,  63,  196. 

—  of  ♦'self-realisedness,"  224. 

—  of  pleasure  is  sense  of  value, 

223. 

—  of  satisfaction  :  differences  of. 

226. 
Fichte,  198. 
Fidelity,  365,  372. 
Forgiveness,  41C-1. 
Form  and  matter,   191,   192  5^^., 

230-231. 
Fouillee:  referred  to,  113,  458. 
Fowler:  referred  to,  280. 
Freedom  :    essential    to    morals, 

91-2. 

—  the  true  sense  of,  93-4. 

—  the  highest,  97-8. 

—  a  right  of  man,  315-6. 

—  respect  for,  314-5. 
Friendship,  325-6. 
Froude,  J.  A.  :  quoted,  389. 


GA  S  S  E  N  D I  :     referred  to, 
153-4,  216. 
Gauss :  referred  to,  164. 
Genius:  moral,  12,  350. 
Giddings,  F.  H.,  113. 
Gilman,  N.  P.  :  referred  to,  12. 
Gizycki :  referred  to,  221, 268, 324. 
God:    mediaeval    conception    of, 
101. 

—  goodness  in,  165. 

—  law  of,  174,  258. 

—  must  be  social,  292. 

—  as  all,  456.  ^        . 
as  infinite  and    not    infinite, 

458. 
Goethe:    quoted,  310,   378,   381, 

386. 
Goldsmith:  quoted,  64. 
Golden  Age,  a,  413. 
Good,  2-3. 

—  will,  the,  15-16,  128-130. 

—  its  relation  to  desire,  44. 

—  habit,  84. 

—  happiness  the  only,  218. 

—  must  be  for  somebody,  220. 

—  is  explained  by  the  end,  247. 

—  the  only  thing  desired,  393-4. 

—  the  only  reality,  449. 
Goodness:  an  activity,  J 4. 

—  and  the  beautiful,  177-8. 

—  as  adjustment,  242. 
Goods:  community  of,  317. 
Greek  religion,  436. 
Green  :  on  the  will,  54. 

_  on  the  relation  of  pleasure  to 

objects,  229. 
_  his  view  of  ethics,  248-250. 

—  on  good  and  evil  actions,  379. 
on  Greek  virtues,  420. 

_-  on  self-denial,  420-2. 

—  referred  to,  377,  398. 
Guyau,  referred  to,  164,  113,  4o3. 
Gymnastic  and  music,  386. 

HABIT,  88-90,  106. 
—  good,  84. 
Ilaliam  :  referred  to,  401. 
Happiness,  171. 


4^4 


INDEX. 


Happiness,  the  only  good,  218. 

—  fallacy  of  the  general,  219. 

—  its  relation  to  the  self,  232. 

—  is  a  relative  terra,  232. 

—  the  highest,  233. 

—  is  not  the  end,  233. 

—  real  meaning  of,  253. 
Heart;  198-9. 

Heaven  :  and  freedom  of  the  will, 

101. 
Hedonism :  psychological,  67-69. 

—  paradox  of,  69-71. 

—  varieties  of,  210-212. 

—  ethical,  in  relation  to  psycho- 

logical, 212-3. 

—  egoistic,  215-8. 

—  universalistic,  218  s*^. 

—  three  forms  of,  221. 

—  general  criticism  of,  222  aeq, 

—  foundation  of,  222. 

—  gives    matter    without   form, 

231. 

—  and  motives  to   seek  general 

happiness,  261. 

Hedonists :    ethical  and  psycho- 
logical, 211. 

Hegel :  on  the  planets,  94. 

—  his  view  of  '*  ought,"  168. 

—  his  Logic,  286. 

—  on  the  history  of  freedom,  315. 

—  on  the  Greek  gods,  438. 

—  on  art,  444. 

—  **  the  bad  infinite,"  447. 

—  on  the  real  and  the  rational, 

452. 

—  quoted,  52,  336,  346,  354,  427. 

—  referred  to,  284,  288,  310,  449, 

450-1. 
Heine,  on  Kant,  159-160. 
Hell :  paved  with  good  intentions, 

129. 

—  and  freedom  of  the  will,  101. 
Helvetius:  referred  to,  216. 
Heraclitus  :  referred  to,  147-8. 
Herbart :  referred  to,  366. 

—  quoted,  3G9. 
Heredity,  101-2,  106. 

Hobbes :    referred  to,    154,    158, 
216. 


Hoffding  :  referred  to,  398. 

Homer;  referred  to,  394,  438. 

Honesty  ;  more  than  mere  truth- 
fulness, 363. 

Honour  :  code  of,  8,  342. 

Humanity  :  religion  of,  448. 

Hume :  on  reason  and  passion, 
75-6. 

—  on  self,  96. 

—  referred  to,  318. 
Hunger;  not  a  desire,  81. 
Hutcheson,  154,  178,  181. 

—  on  desires,  71. 
Huxley;  referred  to,  223. 

TDEAL;  meaning  of,  28-9. 
■*-     —  the  ;  study  of,  380. 

—  the  universe  of,  428-30. 

—  validity  of  the,  432. 

—  as  real,  445. 

Idealistic  view  of  ethics,  its  bear- 
ing on  practice,  282  seq. 

Ignorance  ;  and  responsibilitv. 
408.  ^ 

Imagination :  and  morality,  439- 

440. 
Imperative  :  the  social,  309. 

—  absolute,  350,  406. 

—  with  exception,  406. 
Impulse,  57  :  and  responsibility/ 

408.  ^ 

Inclination,  57. 
Incompleteness;  sense  of,  418-9. 

—  and  need  of  religion,  439. 

—  and  morality,  439. 
Indifference ;      liberty    of,     90, 

94. 

Individual;     and    society,     291 
seq. 

—  life,  374  seq. 
Individualism  ;     and    Socialism, 

326-7. 

—  commandment  of,  327. 

—  the  higher,  374-5.. 
Inducement,  62-61. 

Infinite,  the:    demand  for,  444, 
446. 

—  "the  bad,"  447. 


INDEX. 


465 


Infinites  :  the  two,  445-6. 
Insanity :   exempts  from  respon- 
sibility, 407. 
Instinct,  105-6,  248-9. 
Institutions:  social,  320  s^g. 

—  unsectarian  ethical,  324. 

—  and  rights,  333. 

—  and  duties,  333. 

—  and  virtues,  352,  366. 
Intention  :  meaning  of,  59  seq. 

—  relation  to  motive,  64  seq, 

—  the  good  :  and  virtue,  398. 

—  good  and  bad,  399. 
Intuitionism,  l^Zseq.,  277-8. 


TACOBI,  195,  198-9. 

•^      James ;     referred    to,    367, 

450-1. 
Janet,  P. :    referred  to,  188,  198, 

341-2. 
Jansenists  :  referred  to,  205. 
Jesuits  :  referred  to,  340. 
Jevons,  214. 

Jewish  law  summed  up,  341. 
Jews ;    commandments    of,    121, 

352. 

—  and  moral  laws,  124. 

—  the  religion  of,  447. 
John,  Epistle  of :  quoted,  410. 
Judgment :  the  artistic,  16. 

—  the  moral,  114  seq. 

—  the  reflective,  123. 

—  on  act  and  agent,  130  seq. 
Jurisprudence  and  Ethics,  349. 
Justice^  15. 

—  social,  310-11. 

—  note  on,  329-30. 

—  use  of  the  term,  344. 

—  as  social  virtue,  363,  372. 


KANT :  on  the  good  will,  15- 
16,  128,  190-1. 

—  on  idea  of  end,  85. 

—  on  love  not  a  duty,  91. 

—  on  ♦•  ought  "  and  "  can,"  91. 

—  his  life,  159-160. 

Eth. 


Kant ;  on  the  categorical  impera- 
tive, 169,  191  seq. 

—  on  conscience,  185,  278. 

—  his  categories,  188. 

—  his  view  of  the  moral  reason, 

190  seq.,  268-9. 

—  undue  rigorism  of  his  system, 

195  seq. 

—  his  dualism,  195,  201. 

—  his  view  of  humanity  as  an 

end,  201. 

—  note  on  his  views,  203-6. 

—  on  duties  of  perfect  and  im- 

perfect obligation,  344-5. 

—  on  the  two  infinities,  445-6. 

—  referred  to,  25,  275,  278,  455. 
Knowledge  and  virtue,  88. 
Kiilpe :  referred  to,  73. 

LABOUR:    right  of  man  to, 
315. 

—  duty  of,  338-9. 
Law,  162  seq. 

—  positive :  as  the  moral  standard^ 

120-1. 

—  the  moral,  121. 

—  of  reason,  187  seq, 

—  authority  of,  259. 

—  and  public  opinion,  31I-2f. 

—  punishment   a  vindication  of, 

304. 

—  the  supreme,  341-2. 
Laws;  moral,  \^1  seq. 

—  of  nature,  163-4. 

—  of     political     economy,     164. 

170. 

—  of  ethics,  165,  171. 

—  nature  of  moral,  332-4. 

—  conventional,  342-3. 
Liberty :  human,  95, 

—  of  indifference  is  absurd,  90. 
— -  Milton  on,  316. 

Life  :  development  of,  235. 

—  the  moral,  291  seq. 

—  right  and  obligation  of,  314-5. 

—  sacredaess  of,  315. 

—  respect  for,  334. 

—  the  monastic,  381. 

30 


466 


INDEX. 


Life  :  the  active  and  the  contem- 
plative, 384  seq. 

—  relation  of  the  inner   to  the 

outer,  ^%^  scq. 

—  deepening    of    the     spiritual, 

419-20. 

—  the  moral :   and  environment, 

426-8. 

—  failure  of,  440-1. 

Locke  :    his  view  of  ethics,  154, 
189. 

—  his  use  of  term  *  idea,'  28. 
Logic,  6,  10,  18,  21,  24. 

—  and    ethics,    28-30,    189,    286 

seq. 
Lowell   J.  Tt.,  7. 
Loyalty,  372. 
Luther  :  referred  to,  401. 
Luxuries,  323. 
Lying  :  as  the  essence  of  sin,  189. 

—  forbidden,  337-8. 

'\  f  ACAXJLAY  :      referred    to, 
■^^     307. 

MacCunn  :  referred  to,  34. 
Mach:  on  Instinct,  181. 
Maine  :  on  Bentham,  160. 

—  referred  to,  318. 

Man  :  not  a  mere  animal,  29L 

—  in  relation  to  social  surround- 

ings, 298  seq. 

—  the  virtuous,  352. 

—  good  and  bad,  355. 

—  the  virtuous :    and  the  world, 

388-9. 

—  the  virtuous  :  and  his  environ- 

ment, 389. 

—  the    virtuous :     and    success, 

402. 

—  the  vicious  :  and  punishment, 

402. 

—  cause  of  his  relative  unhappi- 

ness,  415. 

—  the  ideal,  419. 
Mandeville :  referred  to,  216. 
Manicheism,  448. 

Marshall,  Prof.  A.  :    referred  to, 
176,  381,  414. 


Martineau's     view    of     motives, 

131-3. 
Master  :  and  servant,  425-6. 
Mathematics,  164. 
Matter  :  and  form,   191,  192  seq., 

230,  231. 
IklcTaggart,  453. 
Mediaeval  ethics,  153. 
Metaphysics,  24. 

—  and  ethics,  30-1. 

—  ultimate  problem  of,  451-2. 
Mill,  J.  S.  :    on  pleasure  as  the 

object  of  desire,  68. 

—  on  parts  of  happiness,  74-5.^ 

—  his  view  of   motives  and  in- 

tentions, 133-4. 

—  confused     egoistic     and    uni- 

versalistic  hedonism,  211. 

—  exponent     of     utilitarianism, 

218. 

—  argument    for    utilitarianism, 

218-9. 

—  on   quantity  and    quality    of 

pleasures,  225. 

—  on  higher  happiness,  232. 

—  on    capacity    for    enjoyment, 

232. 

—  on  justice,  329-30. 

—  on  sanctions,  259,  264-5. 

—  on  the  finitude  of  God,  448. 

—  quoted,  180,  299. 

—  referred  to,  96,  164,  299,  303, 

344,  455. 
Milton  :  on  love  of  freedom,  316. 

—  on    reliy:ion    as   a    "dividual 

movable,"  382. 

—  on  cloistered  virtue,  390. 

—  on  Satan,  394,  395,  415. 

—  quoted,  146,  400. 
Moral  genius,  12,  350. 

—  imperatives,  92. 

—  ideas  and  ethical  ideas,  110. 

—  consciousness  :  development  of 

111-2. 

—  law,  the,  121. 

—  conflict,  121-2. 

—  judgment :  growth  of,  114. 

—  judgment,  significance  of,  127 

seq. 


INDEX. 


4^7 


Moral  judgment :  object  of,  128, 
133  seq. 

—  judgment :     subject    of,     138 

seq. 

—  connoisseur,  the,  139  seq. 

—  sense,     140,     154,    177    seq., 

274-5. 

—  reason,  190  seq. 

—  life  :  a  process  of  growth,  234 

seq. 

—  ideals  :  origin  of,  244. 

—  laws  :  nature  of,  332  seq. 

—  philosopher,  the  :  the  task  of, 

350. 

—  reformer,  390  seq. 

—  evil,  393-6. 

—  pathology,  393  seq. 

—  sanctions :  260-5. 

—  progress,  413. 

—  universe,  the,  416. 

—  change,    and    change    of    en- 

vironment, 240,  416-8. 

—  life  and  religion,  436,  450-1. 
Morality  :  and  religion,  433  seq. 
Morals :     freedom     essential     to 

91-2. 

—  necessity  essential  to,  92-3. 

—  and  evolution,  234. 

—  an  adjustment,  238  seq. 

—  natural  selection  in,  243-4. 

—  minor,  342-3. 

—  primitive  and  modem,   com- 

pared, 413-4. 
Morgan,  Prin.  C.  L.,   105,   106, 

247,  249. 
Morris,  Wm. :  referred  to,  317, 

385. 
Moses:  referred  to,  391. 
Motive  :  meaning  of,  &2  seq. 

—  relation  of,   to    intention,    64 

seq. 

—  relation  of,  to  pleasure,  66-7. 

—  reason  as  a,  75-6. 

—  constitution  of,  77-8. 

—  as  object  of  the  moral  judg- 

ment, 134  seq. 

—  and  actions,  317. 

—  as  sanction,  260. 

—  the  right  ethical,  260-1. 


Motive :  the  political  and  econo- 
mic, in  relation  to  morality, 
416-8. 

"Mrs.  Grundy,"  342. 

Muirhead,  J.  H.  :  on  Kantian 
ethics,  203,  206. 

—  on  feeling,  306. 

—  on  a  good  and  a  bad  artisan, 

347. 

—  on   courage  and  temperance, 

362. 

—  on  generosity,  363. 

—  on  resolution,  393. 

—  his  list  of  corrupt   social  in- 

stitutions, 412. 

—  on  emotion  and  religion,  433-4. 

—  quoted,  312. 

—  referred  to,  186,  306,  307,  360, 

368. 
Music  :  in  education,  386. 

—  Carlyle  on,  444. 
Must :  167-9,  256  seq. 


^APOLEON :  referred  to,  385. 
-^^    Natural  selection  :  in  morals, 

243  seq. 
Nature  :  law  of,  1 74  seq. 
Necessitarians,  94. 
Necessity :    essential  to    morals, 

92-3. 
Nirvana,  447. 
Novalis  :  on  character,  57. 
Normative  science,  20-22. 
—  Ethics  as  a,  4  seq. 


OBJECT  :  of  desire,  64  seq. 
—  its  relation  to  pleasure, 
217. 

—  pleasure      inseparable      from, 

227-9. 
Obligation,  270. 

—  and  rights,  313-4,  333. 

—  ultimate  meaning  of,  319. 

—  and  commandments,  332. 

—  duties  of  perfect  and  imper- 

fect, 343  seq. 


468 

Obligation:  new,  423-6. 
Ought,  167-9,  171,  256  seq. 

—  and  "can,"  91. 

—  hedonistic  use  of,  212. 

—  Bentham  on,  213. 

—  meaning  of,  254. 

—  as  the  social  imperative,  309. 

—  absolute,  349. 
Owen,  Kobert,  90. 


PEDAGOGICS     and     ethics, 
33-4. 
Pain:    as  negative  of   pleasure, 

72-3. 
Paley,  258-9. 

Pantheism  :  the  deeper,  447. 
Paradox  :  of  hedonism,  69  seq. 

—  of  duty,  375. 
Passion:   157. 

Paul:     referred    to,    312,    335, 
397. 

—  quoted,  97. 

People  :  the  ethos  of  a,  354-7. 
Perception,  180-1. 
Perfection,  234  seg. 

—  the  true  end,  233. 

—  explanations  of,  236  seq.,  247 

seq. 

—  ''counsels  of,"  429. 
Perseverance,  362,  364,  372. 
Pessimism  :  ground  for,  440-1. 
Pessimists,  3. 

Pfleideror,  Prof. :  referred  to,  436. 
Philanthropy,  196. 
Philosophy  :  and  ethics,  17,  30-1. 
Physical  science  :  and  ethics,  25. 
'Plain  man,'  195. 
Plato :  his  view  of  virtue  as  an 
art,  15. 

—  his  Ideal  theory,  152. 

—  his  view  of  ethics,  295-6. 

—  on  community  of  goods,  317. 

—  on  the  virtues,  358-9,  373. 

—  referred  to,  268,  284,  320,  386, 

440,  459. 
Pleasure :  as  a  motive,  66-7. 

—  as  the  only  object  of  desire, 

67  seq. 


INDEX. 


Pleasure  :  paradox  of,  69  seq. 

—  ambiguity  of,  69,  72. 

—  of  pursuit,  70,  79-82. 

—  pain  as  negative  of,  72-3. 

—  and  pleasures,  72-5,  217. 

—  of  progressive  attainment,   79 

seq. 

—  and  desire  :   (note  on),  79-82. 

—  is  satisfaction  of  appetite,  209- 

210. 

—  quantity  of,  214-5. 

—  greatest,  214-5. 

—  intensity  and  duration  of,  214. 

—  objective,  content  of,  217. 

—  only  reasonable  thing  to  seek, 

218. 

—  most  intense,  preferable,  218. 

—  of  others  and  our  own,  220. 

—  as  sense  of  value,  223-4. 

—  inseparable  from  object,  227-9, 
_  no  calculus  of,  229-230. 
Pleasures  :  quality  of,  225-6. 

—  sum  of :  is  not  pleasure,  229- 

230. 
Poetrv  :  in  religion,  449-50. 
Political  Economy,  6,  21-2,  271. 

—  its  relation  to  ethics,  32-3. 
Politics:  and  ethics,  31-2,  295. 
Pope  :  quoted,  58,  396. 
Practical    reason :      dualism    of, 

221. 
Practice :    bearing  of  theory  on, 

273  seq. 
Priggishness,  369. 
Progress  :  respect  for,  338-9. 

—  moral,  413  seq. 
Propagandism,  424. 

Property :  right  and  obligation  of, 
316-8. 

—  respect  for,  336. 
Psychological  hedonism,  67-9. 

in  relation  to  ethical,  212-3. 

Psychology :    and    ethics,    27-8, 

36-7. 

—  and  education,  33. 

—  and  universe  of  desire,  51,  58. 

—  and  the  mind,  132. 

—  and    education    of    character, 

366. 


INDEX. 


469 


Public  opinion :  and  law,  311-2. 
Punishment,  402-4. 

—  origin  of,  403, 

—  justification  of,  403,  406. 

—  as  a  vindication  of  law,  406. 

—  retributive  theory  of,  406. 
Purpose,  57. 

Pursuit :  pleasures  of,  70,  79-82. 

1  >     AL,  the  :  as  ideal,  445. 
*  ^      Reality  :  as  the  good,  449. 
Reason  :  and  will,  75-7. 

—  and  passion,  157  seq. 

—  law  of,  157  seq. 

—  authority  of,  268  seq. 
Reflection  :  and  action,  109. 

—  and  the  moral  life,  374  seq. 

—  on  conduct  and  motives,  376-9. 
Reform :  punishment  as  agent  of, 

404. 
Reformation,  409. 
Reformer  :  the  moral,  390. 
— .  is  often  inconsiderate,  396. 

—  need  of,  412. 

—  function  of,  418-9. 
Religion  :  as  a  division  of  labour, 

381-2. 

—  and  the  moral  life,  436. 

—  in  relation  to  art,  436-9. 

—  the  ideals  of,  437. 

—  and  reality,  437-9. 

—  origin  of,  439. 

—  the  necessity  of,  439-40. 

—  the  first,  446-7. 

—  the  second,  447-8. 

—  the  third,  448-9. 

—  of  humanity,  448. 

—  and  superstition,  449-50. 

—  ethical  significance  of,  450  seq. 
Remorse,  40b. 

Renan :  quoted,  98. 
Responsibility,  101-3,407-8. 
Revenge,  405. 
Reverence,  372,  445. 
Reward  :  origin  of,  403. 
Rhetoric,  166. 

Middles  of  the  Sphinx :  referred  to, 
448. 


Right,  1-2,  162  seq. 

—  the  :  and  the  good,  158  seq. 
Righteousness,  171. 

Rights:    and  obligations,  313-4, 
333. 

—  of  man  :  defined  and  discussed, 

314  «<?^. 

—  ultimate  meaning  of,  319. 

—  quasi,  427. 

Ritchie,  Prof.D.  G.  :  referred  to, 

64. 
Rossignol,  J.  E.  Le  :  on  Wollas- 

ton,  189. 
Rousseau  :  referred  to,  315,  318. 
Royce,  Prof. :  referred  to,  304. 
Rules,  2,  5,  7. 

—  Greeks  no  code  of  moral,  332. 

—  conflict  of:  inevitable,  339. 

—  conventional,  342-3. 

—  and  interest,  347. 

—  cut-and-dried,  349. 

—  of   conduct :     (note   on),   349- 

51. 
Ruskin :  his  view  of  economics, 
33. 

—  on  taste,  178. 

—  on  honesty  in  art,  363. 

—  referred  to,  47,  185,  374,  385, 

392,  412,  414. 
Rutherford,  Mark :  quoted,  399. 

SANCTION,  98,  260  seq. 
—  as  motive,  260. 

—  the  "  Pragmatic,"  260. 

—  kinds  of,  262-4. 
Satisfaction  :  subsequent  to  want, 

71-2. 

—  imaginative,  81-2. 

—  of  desires,  209-210. 

—  different  feelings  of,  226. 
Schiller :    his  criticism  of  Kant, 

196-7. 

—  referred  to,  342. 

—  quoted,  443. 

Schopenhauer  :  referred  to,  92. 
Science  :  positive  and  normatire, 

5-6,  20-22. 

—  practical,  8. 


47- 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


47  « 


Science  :  and  art,  11-13. 

—  physical :  its  relation  to  ethics, 

25 
Seeley,  Sir  J.:  quoted,    119-120, 

121. 
Self  :  a  man's,  95. 

—  of  a  higher  kind,  97. 

—  the  true  :  is  the  rational,  98. 

—  the*' tribal,"  115-7. 

—  the  ♦*  ideal,"  144-5. 

—  and  happiness,  232-3. 

—  realisation    of :     as    the   end, 

233. 

—  the  social,  291-2. 
Self-consistency :    real    meaning 

of,  201-2,  252. 
Self-denial,  420. 
Self-examination,  378. 

—  and  the  monastic  life,  381. 
Self-realisation  :  as  the  end,  233. 

—  through  self-sacrifice,  294-5. 

—  test  of  social  progress,  326. 

—  the  fundamental  law,  34 1 . 
Sense:  moral,  140,  154,  177  5*^. 
Sermon  on  the  mount,  8. 
Servant  and  master,  425-6. 
Seth,  Prof.  A. :  referred  to,  441. 
Shaftesbury,     154,     178-9,     181, 

259. 

Shakespeare  :  quoted,  3,  53,  64, 
56,  65,  123,  395,  400,  410. 

Shand,  A.  F.  :  referred  to,  87. 

Sidgwick,  H. :  on  Mill's  Utilitari- 
anism, 68-9. 

—  on  the  paradox  of   hedonism, 

69-71. 

—  on  the  pleasures  of  pursuit,  70- 

71,  79-81. 

—  his  relation  to  Kant,  194. 

—  on   ethical  and   psychological 

hedonism,  212. 

—  on  egoistic  hedonism,  216. 

—  on  seeking  pleasure,  218. 

—  his  proof  of  universalistic  he- 

donism, 220  seq. 

—  on    conditions     of     pleasure, 

229. 

—  on  justice,  330. 

—  referred  to,  61,  194,  265,  268. 


Simmel,    Georg :     his    view    of 
Ethics,  281-2. 

—  referred  to,  92,  103,  145,  243, 

269,  290,  317. 
Sin,  398  seq. 

—  original,  101. 

—  **  besetting,"  380. 

—  the  shadow  of  virtue,  396. 

—  never  an  impossibility,  396. 

—  and  -vice,  397. 

Slavery:  forbidden,  318,  335-6. 
Slaves,     emancipation    of :     and 

morality,  426-8. 
Smith,  Adam  :  his  view  of  ethics, 

140  seq. 

—  on  books  of  casuistry,  340. 

—  on  positive  merit,  344. 

—  on  morals  of  Charles  II. 's  time, 

356. 

—  referred  to,  341,  348,  403. 
Social  philosophy,  32,  310. 

—  equilibrium,  the,  242. 

—  unity  and  conscience,  303  seq. 

—  imperative,  the,  309. 

—  contract,  318. 

—  institutions,  320  seq. 

—  progress,  326. 

—  order :  respect  for,  336-7. 

—  corruption,  411. 

—  evolution,  413-6. 

Socialism :     and    individualism, 
326-7. 

—  commandment  of,  327. 
Society:  and  the  individual,  291 

seq. 

—  a  unity,  292. 

—  as    the    ethical   en-s'ironment, 

299. 

—  an  organism,  300-2. 

—  war  against,  395. 

—  failure  of,  441-2. 
Sociology,  290. 

—  and  ethics,  27-8,  37-8. 

—  (note  on),  113. 

Socrates  :  on  virtue  as  knowledge, 
77,  88. 

—  his  ethics,  149  «^^. 

—  referred  to,  268,  332,  388-9. 
Sophists,  148-9. 


Sophocles  :  referred  to,  332. 
Sorley,  Prof. :  referred  to,  246, 

441. 
Souls:  beautiful,  382-3. 
Spencer,  H  :  his  view  of  conduct, 

85. 

—  on  development  of  life,  235. 

—  his  ethics,  237-241,  247. 

—  on  the  conciliation  of  egoism 
and  altruism,  293-4. 

—  on  the  ideal  man,  309. 

—  referred  to,  161,  281,  312,  334, 
447. 

Spinoza  :     on    blessedness,    227, 
253. 

—  referred  to,  157,  447. 
Spiritual  life  :  deepening  of,  419- 

20. 
Spontaneity  :  animal,  94. 
Springs  of  action,  132, 
State  :  the,  325. 

—  and  duties,  345. 
Status:  and  contract,  318. 

Jtephen,  L.  :  on  Samuel  Clarke's 
Ethics,  176. 
on  a  moral  rule,  242- 
^^00-^  —  on  *'  social  tissues,"  301. 

—  on  the  family,  321. 

—  quoted,  171. 
Stoics  :  ideal  of,  161. 

—  view  of  happiness,  206. 

—  estimate  of  a  good  man,  297. 

—  referred  to,  174,  177,268. 
Stout,  G.  F. :  on  appetite,  45. 

—  on  voluntary  action,  58. 

—  referrred  to,  114. 
Subordination:  in  the  family,  20. 

—  in  the  workshop,  21-2. 
Suminutn  bonum,  3,  14. 
Superstition :  and  religion, 44 9 -50. 
Syllogism  :  the  moral,  369  seq. 

HHASTE  :  the  moral,  179-180. 
-*-      Taylor,  A.  E. :  referred  to, 

252. 
Teleology  :  need  of,  245  seq. 

—  and  Spencer's  view  of  evolu- 

tion, 247. 


Temperance :  as  a  virtue,  359  seq. , 

372,  420  seq. 
Theory :  and  practice,  273  seq. 
Thugs,  7. 
Titchener,  E.  B. :  referred  to,  73, 

209. 
Truth,  respect  for,  337-8 

—  in  religion  and  art,  437-8. 

—  in  religion,  449. 

Types  of  ethical  theory,  156  seq. 

TTNIFORMITIES,  163-4. 
^      Universe  :  of  desire,  47-9. 

—  higher  and  lower,  208-9,  250. 

—  and  satisfaction,  210. 

—  the    highest,    is    completely 

rational,  253. 

—  the  social,  299-300. 

—  of  moral  activities,  355. 

—  broad  and  narrow,  393. 

—  moral:  and  remorse,  418. 

—  bringing  up  to  a  high,  410. 

—  the  moral,  416. 

—  contradiction    in    our    inner, 

417. 

—  the  ideal,  428-30. 
Unknowable :  the,  447. 
Utilitarianism :  Mill  an  exponent 

of,  218-9. 

—  theory  of,  218  seq.,  268. 

■ —  as  pursuit  of  the  useful,  221. 

—  end  of,  222. 

—  practical  value  of,  278-280. 

—  its  motives  to  seek  the  general 

happiness,  261. 
Utopias :    relation    to    morality, 
428-9. 

T^VLUE:     and  pleasure,    222 
■       seq. 

—  sense  of,  223. 

—  measure  of,  224. 
Vice,  397. 

Vices :  as  virtues  of  early  civil- 
isation, 294. 

—  classification  of,  398. 
Virtue :    a  kind  of    knowledge, 

88. 


4^2 


INDEX, 


Virtue  :  use  of  term,  343,  352. 

—  and  duty,  352. 

—  nature  of,  358. 
Virtues  :  352  seq. 

—  and  commandments,  352-3. 

—  and  states  of  society,  353. 

—  relative  to  social  functions,  357. 

—  the  cardinal,  358  seq.,  372-3. 

—  self-regarding  and  altruistic, 

360. 

—  four  classes  of,  362. 

—  what  are  they,  365-6. 

—  inner  side  of,  379. 

—  as     outer    fact    and    inward 

character,  423. 
Voluntary  action :  nature  of,  98- 
100. 


WALLACE,  W.:  211,452. 
Want 


seq. 


and  appetite,    44 


—  prior  to  satisfaction,  71-2. 
War:  when  justified,  412. 
Ward,  Dr.  :  quoted,  87. 

—  referred  to,  209. 

Ward,  Mrs.  Humphry:  quoted, 
368. 

Watson,  Prof.,  211,  452. 

Wedi?wood,  Miss :  on  the  in- 
fluence of  moral  ideals. 
428-9. 


Wedgwood,  Miss  :  quoted,  306. 
Whitman,    Walt:    quoted,    374, 

385,  414. 
Will:  the  good,  15-16,  128-130. 

—  and  art,  16. 

—  and  wish,  53-4. 

—  and  act,  54-7,  129. 

—  force  of,  56. 

—  and  character,  57-8. 

—  and  reason,  75-7. 
-—freedom  of,  90-1. 

—  that  wills  nothing,  195. 

—  higher  and  lower    forms   of. 

208-9. 
Wisdom:    a    virtue,    359,     362. 
372. 

—  practical,  365. 

—  for    one's    self    and     others. 

365. 
Wish  :  an  effective  desire,  52. 

—  and  will,  53-4. 
Wollaston  :  referred  to,  189. 
Women  :  rights  of,  321,  419,  422, 

427. 
Wonder  :  a  religion,  439. 
Wordsworth :    quoted,    29,    108, 

196,  384,  390,  440. 
Work:  and  duty,  344. 
Workshop:  the,  321-2. 
World:    the,   and  the   virtuouB 

man,  388-9. 
Worship,  what  it  is,  437. 


^ 


